In Nomine Patris
by qqueenofhades
Summary: Three months into their relationship, Lucifer and Chloe face a very unexpected - and very unwelcome - side effect of his humanity around her. Because everyone knows that the one thing the Devil absolutely, utterly, simply cannot possibly be, under any circumstances, is a father.
1. I

**In Nomine Patris**

* * *

All the trouble starts with the romantic couple's weekend. They've only been together for about three months, finally overcome their endless stubbornness and evasion and admitted they can't live without each other, and as such, gotten the chance to enjoy everything they've been ducking around, in every sense of the word. Lucifer has been waiting more than bloody long enough, in his opinion, and Chloe can't deny that, as a human woman who might be immune to him in plenty of other ways, there is a certain delayed-gratification element to the whole thing that is now very, very gratified. There is plenty of booze involved, and chocolate, and candlelight, and silk sheets, and flowers, and other sorts of things conducive to having, well, a lot of sex in athletic positions with a very attractive (and experienced) partner who has a vested interest in making her, well, _happy._ Multiple times, and intensively.

The afterglow lasts for a week, and then two. Then it's not an afterglow, but something rather less enjoyable, and Chloe doesn't think anything of it at first, figures it's just a passing bug. She still doesn't think much of it when she's late, as sometimes she is. But when it's been several weeks after that, and Aunt Flo still hasn't arrived, and she's continuing to feel, well, off, a horrible suspicion crawls into her brain, one she – one that _they –_ have never even considered. But she's been to this rodeo once before, after all, and she remembers what it felt like then, and maybe, just to be safe. Probably not. Definitely not. Of course not.

But she'd better double check.

Which is how Lucifer drops in one day to find Chloe with a very funny look on her face and a drugstore bag and box in the trash. She's leaning on the counter staring at something, and he, being well-versed in human frailties and all the things that can kill them (he had far too much experience with the plague back in the fourteenth century, for example) bounds to her side. "Detective, what's wrong? Are you ill? I know you've been feeling not quite the thing recently – it's not cancer, is it? What else kills you mortals? It's not that, is it? Do you have a fever?"

"No, it's not cancer, jeez." Chloe manages a strained smile, which does nothing to ease his nerves; threats to himself he can handle with glee all the livelong day, but any hint of a threat to her, of any kind, and he immediately loses the ability to handle anything. She takes forever, starting and then stopping, as his anxiety progressively ratchets up, until she finally blurts out, "LuciferIthinkImightbepregnant."

Lucifer gapes at her, then starts to laugh, as obviously, she's jerking him around. "Oh, very funny. I did look at you especially passionately this morning, that must have done it. And I did say that one time, we very well could have made Rosemary's Baby, so we should absolutely brace ourselves for literal hellspawn. I think it might be worse than – "

He stops, as by now she should be rolling her eyes and whacking his arm, but she's not. Until he looks at her face, and hears the earth shaking. "Wait. . . oh no. . . oh bloody hell you're not. . . you're not joking?"

Chloe shakes her head and holds it out. He has never seen one in real life (thank – no, _absolutely_ not Dad) but even he cannot mistake the fact of a positive pregnancy test. Right before his eyeballs. Until he stands there for one more instant, carved down by the long-awaited lightning bolt from above, and then, well, flips a shit.

"Oh no." He whirls around. "How on earth could this possibly happen – no. No, this doesn't happen. It's never happened before! This is terrible! Utterly terrible for me! What do I do? I can't – no. No, no, no!"

Chloe stares at him. "Excuse me? Terrible for _you?"_

"No, no, Detective. You're right. It's not terrible. It's absolutely ghastly."

"What? Are you serious? That's how you're taking this? It's not like I planned on it either!" She takes a step, voice rising. "Do you think I decided a kid was a good idea after three months of dating Los Angeles' ex-biggest playboy with a Devil hard-on, or – "

"The Devil might have a hard-on, but I assure you this is no – "

At that moment, Trixie's bedroom door cracks open, and she peers around it with tremulous dark eyes. "Mommy? Why are you shouting? Is something wrong?"

Chloe shuts her mouth hard enough to hear it click. "No, baby. Nothing's wrong. It's fine."

"Excuse me?" Lucifer blazes back at her. "There _is_ a baby, and that is _not_ fine! My life is bloody ruined, I didn't even – no. No, _absolutely_ not, I refuse!"

With that, he turns on his heel and all but runs out of the house, slamming the door behind him, as they hear his convertible rev to life and screech out of the driveway hard enough to leave rubber marks. Chloe just stands there staring after him, shaken and upset, as Trixie, confused and tentative, tries to comfort her. "Mommy? Mommy, are you okay?"

"Yeah." Chloe looks down at her, the word coming to her lips automatically, a parental instinct. Even if, honestly, she has no idea if she is, or if she will be. Or any of it.

* * *

Later that night at Lux, Lucifer is categorically, unequivocally, three-sheets-to-the wind smashed in a way it is very difficult for an angel to actually get on human booze, which speaks to the level of dedication he has been putting into the effort. It's well into the wee hours and everyone has gone home, the lights out, the spots dimmed, the thumping music silenced. There's nothing but him, reflected in the endless mirrors, cold and empty. He finishes one cigarette, taps out the ashes, and immediately starts another.

It remains quiet until the stairs creak, and Maze appears, perhaps in search of a three-AM pick- me-up. She's clearly surprised to see him. "Really? I thought you'd be at home by now being disgustingly domestic. You know, since that's your thing these days."

He doesn't answer, and a frown creases her scarred brows as she descends and strides over, stepping behind the bar to examine him. All it takes is one jet-fuel whiff of alcohol for her to know the situation is serious. "Lucifer? Lucifer, stop being an ass and tell me what's going on."

He mumbles some incoherent answer about fathers and failures and takes another drink, draining the last of whatever round he's on now. Then he immediately reaches for the bottle to pour more, but she whisks it away from him, causing a brief episode of the red-eyed Stare of Death that has driven countless mere mortals to shrieking and pleading insanity. Maze, however, is not impressed at all. "Is this about you and your little detective? Don't tell me, you broke up. I could have told you, this was never going to work, so get over it and – "

"NO! IT'S WORSE!" He has volume, at least, pushing himself upright with a wild expression, so he can't be in permanently bad shape. He nearly topples off the barstool, but manages to catch himself. "IT'S SO MUCH WORSE!"

Despite herself, Maze is slightly concerned. "Is Trixie okay?"

"The spawn? Oh yes. Fine, she's just bloody _fine._ I just never counted on having a _second_ one of those! This isn't supposed to happen to me! This _can't_ be happening, I reject it!"

It takes Maze a minute, but she gets it. "Oh my. . . tell me Chloe's not. . ." One look at Lucifer's face answers that question, rather spectacularly. "Oh, she is? She makes you human, doesn't she? And you've never had to worry about this with anyone else, have you? Oh my GOD."

"DON'T BRING HIM INTO THIS!" Lucifer stands up in a rage, smashing the glass and dropping the cigarette, whirling on his heel. Clearly, drunken solitary brooding has lost its effect as a consolatory measure, and he is out to do some rather literal hell-raising. Which, frankly, Maze is not in the mood to deal with or clean up after. She strides after him, grabs him, efficiently knocks him out, drags him to the couch, and calls Amenadiel.

Lucifer is groggily coming around by the time Amenadiel gets there. He's in a bit of a panic, thinking it has to be one of the Four Horsemen breaking the seal of _their_ prison down Below or something equally terrible, and therefore when he hears it, his reaction is a facepalm. Two, just for good measure. Because of _course_ Lucifer has managed to get his human girlfriend pregnant with a half-angel child of unknown powers, who is the actual spawn of Satan. This is the exact sort of literal fuck-up he should just expect by now. Poor Amenadiel.

He and Maze briefly discuss the option of simply. . . making it so that this didn't happen. There are tricks they can pull, memories they can alter, that sort of thing, just removing this from the record. There is no way this is a smart idea, after all, and Lucifer clearly is having a cow, or rather the entire dairy farm. Only for a bang behind them to startle them both, and when they spin around, they discover that Lucifer has made the (quite expensive) couch physically explode. Its remnants are glowing with a hellish fire that matches the one in his face. "If you touch Chloe in any way, in _any way,_ I'm warning you. I _will_ kill you both, and I don't care."

Maze and Amenadiel look at him, look at each other, and realize that this is much worse than they expected. The latter, however, gamely gives it a go. "But Luci, you know you can't be a father. Look at you, you're a mess. Just let me fix – "

"I'm well BLOODY aware of how you fix things, BROTHER _._ And you call me the cruel one."

Amenadiel flinches, but can't really say anything to this. Maze smirks admiringly, as she likes Amenadiel, but she also likes seeing Lucifer hand him his ass on a plate. Speaking of which, he's nowhere near finished. "As I said. Touch Chloe and I will OBLITERATE you to such a degree that every freeway on-ramp in this wretched bloody city actually WILL be the mouth of hell. DON'T TRY ME."

Amenadiel sighs. Maze whistles, still smirking. "Told you he'd react like this."

Lucifer glares at them once more for emphasis, then sits down heavily, still rather drunk, and stares at the floor. Puts his face in his hands and finally mutters, "Bloody hell," once again. Then his phone starts to buzz, which he ignores.

Maze swipes it away from him and sees that it's from Chloe, as are the previous fifteen calls. She rolls her eyes viciously, stands up, and dials back, dodging out of Lucifer's way as he grabs for her, and Chloe picks up on the first ring. "Where the hell are you? I've been calling you all night. Thanks for running out of here and leaving me by myself, I really appreciate – "

"It's me," Maze says. "He's here at Lux. You're not missing anything. It's pretty pathetic."

Chloe blows out an angry breath. "Maze. Hi. I need to yell at him, please."

"Believe me, you do. It's a train wreck. Much more satisfying in person, though."

Maze looks at Lucifer pointedly, and he attempts to dissolve into the woodwork. "What? No, I don't – I can't hear you, I'm not here, I – "

"I know what you should do," Maze says loudly. "You need to call Dan. He knows how to handle news like this. He'd probably be helpful."

Lucifer looks up in horror.

"Call _Dan?_ What makes you think that is possibly a – " Chloe pauses. Gets it. "You know, Maze, you're right. I'm calling Dan."

Lucifer jumps to his feet and snatches at the phone as Maze darts around the bar with it. "No, no, no, do not call him! Do not call Detective Douche, this is a terrible idea!"

"I'm calling Dan!" Chloe shouts at him from the other end, before she hangs up. This leaves Lucifer frantically grabbing at the phone as it goes dead and Maze grins evilly at him.

Seeing this going further downhill, Amenadiel vainly tries, once more, to run intervention. "Luci, why don't you stop and think for two seconds. Maze is right – look, two minutes ago you were drunk as a skunk and now you're just going to – ?"

"Sorry, brother. 'Fraid thinking things over is your jurisdiction. You always come up with the wrong conclusion and go about it like a drunken and concussed gorilla with two broken arms, but at least you do think, I'll give you that."

With that, Lucifer grabs his car keys, barges down the stairs and outside to the Jag, and sets multiple land speed records on the way back, which would require him to bamboozle half the cops in L.A. if they dared to pull him over. They must be elsewhere, though, and when he pulls up in front of the house, he jumps out and runs inside to see. . . well, no Dan. Just Trixie hiding behind the sofa, and Chloe standing in the middle of the carpet, pale but determined. "Lucifer, we need to talk about this."

"Where's Detective Douche?" He wheels in a circle. "He's. . ." He pauses. "You didn't call him."

Chloe's lip trembles slightly. "No. I just wanted you to come home." She glances sidelong at Trixie. "Go to bed, monkey, okay? Look, Lucifer's back, it's fine."

Trixie similarly does the wobbly lip. "I wanna be tucked in."

Chloe shoots a searing look at Lucifer and starts toward her, but Trixie says, "I want Lucifer to tuck me in."

Lucifer opens his mouth, Chloe glares absolute nails through him, and he meekly goes to do as ordered. "There, now shut up and conk out. Look, it's your hideous plastic night light. No, I'm not giving you a good night kiss, that is absurd, I. . ." He trails off, looks up, and sees Chloe still glaring at him from the bedroom door. Clearly a man to recognize when he is beaten (well, eventually, at least) he sighs heavily, screws his eyes shut, leans down as if approaching a beehive, and kisses her as fast as possible on the nose.

Trixie giggles. "I love you, Lucifer. Night night."

"Night. . . night."

He tucks in her doll alongside her, gets up, and tiptoes to the door, shutting it hastily as if something might try to escape. That leaves him, however, with nowhere else to run, and he and Chloe stare at each other for a deeply awkward moment. Finally, she says, "If you were thinking of somewhere to start, an apology would be a good place."

"I. . ." He cringes. "I. . . well. . . may have behaved somewhat badly earlier."

"Somewhat badly?! Lucifer, you said this was absolutely ghastly and your life was ruined, shouted at me, scared Trixie, ran out of the house, disappeared all night, got drunk, didn't answer my calls, and only came back because you thought I'd drag my ex into this." Chloe is clearly furious, but tears are glittering in her eyes. "Can't you just admit that you fucked up for once? And if you make a single crack about how that's the problem, I will kill you right here."

He cringes again, opens and shuts his mouth, and has nothing clever to say to that.

"Don't you think I'm just as scared as you? We weren't planning on this! We've only been together for three months, we're not even living together yet! And now suddenly I'm going to have the 'Devil's' child? Did you ever consider that? No, you didn't."

"I. . . no. . . I didn't."

Chloe blows out another breath. "Okay. Good start. Two words now. Short. Try it."

"I'm. . . I'm. . ." He stops. "I'm sorry."

She tenses, then all the coiled rage seems to run out of her, and he takes a step and catches her in his arms, pulling her tightly against him and not even caring that he can feel his strength run out of him too, in more ways than one. Her head tucks under his chin and he holds her silently, for a long moment. "Sorry," he says again, at last. He almost likes saying it, for some odd reason, to her. "I'm an absolute prat, aren't I?"

Chloe laughs unsteadily. "Yeah. Yeah, you are."

He closes his eyes for a moment. "Afraid of that."

Both of them understand that it's not just whether he's a prat that he's afraid of. Then he leans down to kiss her temple. "Been a long day for both of us, darling, eh? Let's go to bed."

Chloe looks as if she's still thinking about making him sleep on the couch, but relents with a terse nod. They go upstairs, undress and change, and get into bed. They haven't moved in yet, but he spends a lot of time here. He likes it better, somehow, than her staying over at Lux, in the cold, impersonal penthouse where he's had so many women and men alike, and he shifts and pulls Chloe into his side, as she stiffens but finally lets him hold her. She murmurs, "Still mad at you," and drifts off quickly.

Lucifer looks up at the ceiling, says, "Oh God," and stares into the darkness, utterly terrified.

* * *

Dr. Linda Martin has barely gotten to her office the next morning – in fact, she hasn't even unlocked the door – when she's accosted by an extremely agitated Lucifer, who has clearly been pacing in the hall since about five AM. "What's the matter with you, it's bloody 8:30! I shouldn't have to wait this long! This is a serious breach of your professional obligations!"

"Lucifer, we don't have an appointment, is – " She looks at his tousled and harried expression, and frowns. "Are you sure this is where you should be? What's going on?"

"Just – in, go on, in, I'll bloody pay you."

He takes out his wallet, actually meaning pay instead of 'pay,' but she pushes it down. Opens her office, lets them in, and since she doesn't have a client until 10, says, "All right, sit down and tell me what's going on."

Lucifer doesn't, pacing back and forth like a tiger in a too-small cage as he blurts it out. "So you see, this is a terrible problem for me, absolutely terrible, and I don't – "

"All right, I'm going to have to stop you right there. This isn't only about you, and it's not a problem. It's a child."

"Yes, and THAT IS THE PROBLEM!"

"There is a we involved here, Lucifer. You and Chloe and Trixie and this child. It's not just about you. I understand you are feeling apprehensive, but – "

"Yes, you could say I'm feeling BLOODY APPREHENSIVE!"

"Because of your parents. You think you can't do this because of what happened with your father. And to some extent, your mother, but I sense it's your father who's more of the issue."

"WELL CLEARLY! It's the most demented joke anyone could possibly think of! I – the Devil being a father, that makes me – that makes me into _Him,_ and I'm – that's his whole shtick, he's a father, he's everyone's Father, and he's miserably terrible at it!"

"Sit down, and we can keep talking."

Lucifer glares at her, but obeys with a jerk and a huff, crossing his legs as if at a fancy garden party. He spreads his hands sarcastically. "There. Sitting."

"Good. So because of you and your framework of reference to yourself as the Devil and your father as God, clearly it's not something you were anticipating or wanting. But if you can get help with it, then you can – "

"Exactly. Help." Lucifer snaps his fingers. "Brilliant, you're brilliant. This is Los Angeles, we'll do what everyone does and hire someone else to raise the bouncing hellish bundle of joy. Perfect."

"No. No, that's not what I meant."

"Of course it is! Hire help, we can go on with our lives, and – "

"So that's what you want?" She looks at him levelly. "You want to do the same thing to your child that your father did to you? Be distant and unreachable until everything blows up, and then throw them out of the house when they're eighteen?"

That catches Lucifer on his heels. Finally he says, "I was several thousand years old when I was thrown out, but – well, I suppose in your terms it was close to eighteen, yes."

"That is what we call a repeating pattern of behavior. It's common in abusive or dysfunctional families. You want to reject the child because you think you'd do the same thing to it which your father did to you – which was rejection. So you're doing it in advance anyway."

Lucifer opens and shuts his mouth again. "No, no, that's not what's going on here."

"Isn't it?"

He can't think of anything to say to that for a minute. Finally, gently, she says, "What does Chloe think? Does she want it?"

"I don't know! I. . . rather didn't give her a chance to say much."

Dr. Linda looks as if she's certainly never heard _that_ before, but she is, if nothing else, a professional, and months of dealing with Lucifer Morningstar have at least somewhat prepared her for banging her head against this very handsome brick wall. She tries again. "Before your father threw you out, and things went bad. How did you feel? Did you love him?"

"I. . ." Lucifer looks down at his hands. "Well, yes. I suppose I did. But I – look, it'll come out vomiting pea soup or something, or it'll be a bloody Nephilim and those are never good, or – " He trails off. "Clearly it's going to hate me."

"Children don't hate, Lucifer. People teach them how to hate. Tell me more. You loved your father, so – how did that go wrong?"

Lucifer looks at his watch and stands up. "Oh dear, must dash, the traffic really is going to be a nightmare. Lovely to see you, do this again sometime – "

Dr. Linda stands up and stops him as he's reaching for the doorknob. "You're free to go, I promise," she says. "I just want you to think about the answer to that question, and whenever you come back, I'd like to hear it."

"Ta, darling." Lucifer wrenches the door open, and exits in a flurry.

* * *

Meanwhile, Chloe wakes up alone, with only an indent in the bed next to her. She's not feeling particularly great, and after an unpleasant morning visit to the bathroom, wonders if this whole half-angel thing is going to make it even weirder. But she manages to put herself back together and drags downstairs to make breakfast for Trixie, who is concerned at the sight of her. "Mommy, are you okay?"

"I'm fine, monkey." She's not up to having The Talk right now. Not when she doesn't even know what is happening tomorrow, much less for the rest of this.

"Why were you and Lucifer shouting yesterday?"

"We were just having. . ." She hesitates. "Sometimes grownups fight, okay? It's nothing to be worried about."

"He sounded really angry."

"Yeah, well, he was." Chloe blows out a hard breath. Where the hell is he, anyway? Run off again? She wouldn't be surprised. She and Dan weren't planning on Trixie either, strictly speaking, but at least he handled the news like a grownup and was excited about it. Lucifer's gotten better, much better, but this has gone about as badly as it possibly can.

"Is it like with you and Daddy? Is he going to leave?"

Chloe wants to say no, but she doesn't know, and she doesn't want to lie. She smiles brightly instead. "Smiley face eggs on toast, then get your backpack, I'm taking you to school."

After she's dropped Trixie off, she heads into the station, realizing she is going to have to talk to someone about this at some point. There are formalities to be arranged, logistics to handle, the fact that they're eventually going to have to take her off frontline case work, not to mention maternity leave. Oh god, maternity leave. She's still acting as if there's anything normal in this situation whatsoever. Maybe if she just ignores it, which isn't working. She's queasy and distracted for most of the day, until Dan finally catches up to her as she's leaving. "Chloe, is everything all right?"

"Fine, Dan. Everything's fine." Chloe fishes for her keys. "I'll say hi to Trix, remember you have her this weekend." Oh God. A weekend with just her and Lucifer. . . she'd be looking forward to that, if that wasn't what got her into this mess in the first place.

"Really? Because honestly, you don't look that great. Things already going south with. . . him?" Dan still can't bring himself to acknowledge that the two of them are actually a thing now. Honestly, Chloe can't blame him, but that doesn't mean that she's in the mood for his patronizing I-just-want-what's-best-for-you routine. Maybe because right now, she's not sure that he isn't right, and that is just _far_ too much to swallow on top of everything.

"Look, Dan." She starts to shoulder past him. "I said everything's – "

"Detective Douche!"

Both of them cringe at the same time as – wow, guess who _finally_ deigns to show up. Lucifer has on his best shark-white smile, and there's a slightly manic look in his eye as he strides toward them. He flings an arm around Chloe's waist, drawing her into him, as she sputters and shoves at him to let go – she's not playing at his happy couple game just to rub it in Dan's face.

"Yeah," Dan says. "Things look real good. I'll catch you later." He pushes past them and lets himself out.

Ignoring this, and acting as if he hasn't come charging into a police station looking like a certifiable lunatic at five PM on an otherwise quiet Wednesday, Lucifer makes quite a show of wanting to know if there's a case, something for them to work on, they can go out, be like old times, nab a murderer or drug dealer. Something fun. Chloe has less than no patience with this, and once more resumes her oft-interrupted exit. "No. Where's Trixie?"

"Waiting for us. We came to pick you up, of course."

Chloe follows him out to where his black Jag convertible is (illegally) parked outside the station, Trixie in the passenger seat clutching a chocolate ice cream cone nearly the size of her head. This is the final straw, and Chloe stares for a moment, then wheels on Lucifer and explodes, "First, I should give you a ticket for the parking job. Second, you don't leave children in cars by themselves!"

He waves a hand. "I was just going to be a minute, I didn't think it was worth that much of a fuss to get her out and in again, with – "

"Yes, yes, it matters, but you don't understand that, do you? You like to play at being her fun grownup friend who gives her chocolate and fancy toys and cash and everything else she wants, but that is _not_ being a father, Lucifer!" Chloe is at the end of her rope. "I'm glad you're one step up from trying to take a shower every time she touches you, but this – what you do with her instead, you're always the good cop, so I end up being bad cop when I cut off the gravy train! You are not doing this again and I am not letting you! Trixie, baby, come on, get out of the car, Mommy's driving you home."

Of course, just because this situation is not terrible enough, Dan elects that exact moment to appear around the edge of the wall. "Everything all right?" he says again, clearly not buying it.

"Actually, just. . . give him a ticket." Chloe waves at the Jag as she strides over, unbuckles Trixie, and lifts her up, fuming. "Give him two. I'm sure this isn't the first time."

"Wait a minute, give _me_ a ticket – "

"Yes, and believe me, you're paying it."

Dan's gaze shoots back and forth between them, sensing that this is about more than Lucifer's flagrant disregard of Los Angeles traffic laws. "Okay," he says. "What the hell is going on?"

"Nothing," Chloe snaps, just as Lucifer says, "Hell seems to be exactly the problem, isn't it?!"

"Wow!" She's tempted to sardonically applaud as she puts Trixie down. "That's about the first honest thing you've said. Yes, Lucifer, you are the problem."

"Should you two really be arguing in front of Trixie?" Dan says snippily.

Chloe hauls in a deep, savage breath through her nose, as an unsatisfactory alternative to murdering both of them on the spot. "I seem to recall we've argued a lot in front of her already, Dan. Which – we shouldn't have done, but this, this just. . ." Fuck, she's feeling nauseous again. She crouches down as the world starts to reel slightly.

In an instant, Lucifer flashes to her side, everything else forgotten; he really does have a hair trigger where any discomfort or weakness or danger for her is concerned, which is ironic when you consider he's the (supposedly) immortal, all-powerful being who could get popped by a common thug (or brained by an especially determined middle-aged housewife with a poker) if she happens to be too close. "Chloe? Chloe? Are you all right?"

"It's – look, it happens sometimes. Early on." Chloe takes a shaking breath, ignoring his offered hand. But at this, Dan is staring goggle-eyed as he starts to put the pieces together.

"Oh no," he says. "Tell me you're not."

"Dan, this is none of your business."

"How is it none of my business? You get together with – him and three months later you're having a _kid_ with him? With my daughter already being raised part-time by this. . . this jackass?"

Lucifer whirls on him in a blur, teeth bared and eyes pitch-black. "Say that one more time, _Detective_ _Douche,_ and I will _jack_ your _ass_ so far it will take a bloody forklift to collect the pieces!"

"Look at him. He's a complete mental case." Dan waves furiously. "You know I tried to keep my mouth shut about this. You know I just wanted what was best for you, whatever made you happy, even if I didn't approve. But this is ridiculous."

At this, Trixie puts her hands over her ears and starts to cry, and all three adults stop as if hit by lightning, shamefaced. Chloe kneels down and tries to comfort her, but Trixie wriggles off and darts away down the station drive. Dan and Lucifer exchange a loathing glance, but sprint after her, as Chloe is leaning against the wall with her eyes closed. She'd help, but she's feeling once more a bit too light on her feet to run, and Dan and Lucifer could stand to work together for a single godforsaken instance. Trixie can't have gotten far, though if they are too busy backbiting to actually catch her – no. Whatever their other flaws (and there are _many),_ the gruesome twosome aren't going to let Trixie be hurt. Leaving her in a car by herself aside.

"So tell me," Dan says when he finally reappears, a sniffling Trixie on his hip. "Is that what's going on? Aren't you moving a little. . . Chloe, this isn't smart, this. . . you're just going to end up hurt again. I know you don't want to listen to anything I have to say, but Jesus."

"Look, Dan. We weren't planning it. As you can tell. And this is still not your business." Chloe holds her arms out for Trixie. "We'll talk about this later."

"Yeah, we better!"

She shakes her head grimly, carrying Trixie off to her car, glancing over to see Dan writing a ticket for Lucifer as ordered. It makes her smile bitterly, but doesn't make her feel much better. She tells Trixie that they'll have girls night tonight, pizza and movies, and then can't get the pizza down, as Trixie finally falls asleep somewhere midway through their second viewing of _Frozen_ and the driveway is still quiet. Chloe keeps looking for headlights, but they never come.

* * *

The next few days aren't much of an improvement. Lucifer has shut himself into Lux and hasn't been home for the week, and Chloe has to break the news to Trixie after several queasy mornings, as well as figuring she deserves to know the truth behind the blowup. Trixie is confused and a bit apprehensive, but ultimately excited. She wants a playmate, and _really_ wants it to be a sister. A brother would be completely horrible, according to her, and Chloe grimly considers that perhaps at least someone will come out of this happy. It's not the worst thing in the world for Trixie to have a sibling. She grew up as an only child, and with her mom filming movies and her dad working the beat, it was often very lonely. Though Lucifer's messed-up family, supernatural or not, will give anyone pause. Not to mention –

"Why isn't Lucifer happy about it, Mommy?"

Trust Trixie to ask the one question she doesn't want to explain. Chloe looks down, then up again, doing her best to affect an encouraging smile. "Well, monkey, he. . . he had a different kind of childhood from you and me. Daddy loves you, and your grandpa loved me, and with Lucifer and his dad, it was. . ."

Any word she uses here will automatically become the biggest understatement in human history.

"Complicated."

Solid, Decker. Solid.

"Anyway, there was a lot of stuff that happened with that, and he thinks he can't do this or be any good at it, and that makes him scared, and that makes him angry."

Trixie wrinkles her nose. "But that's silly. Of course he can."

"It's not that easy, honey."

Trixie finishes her breakfast and Chloe once more schleps her off to school, glancing at her phone. Of course he hasn't called. Disappeared off the face of the damn planet, probably. Briefly wonders if he's in fact decided to return to hell, or wherever he comes from, since that would be preferable to this. Oh God, she's going to kill him, and if there was anyone else more easily available to vent on, she'd appreciate it. This is when she is sorely feeling the lack of a good girlfriend, someone she could call up and spill to. Her mom? Please.

"Hey!" she shouts at the sky, in a moment of total absurdity. "Big guy! Old man on a cloud! If you're any use to anyone, I would really appreciate a convenient lightning bolt from the blue to knock some sense into _someone!_ Thanks for screwing up your kid, genius!"

Great. Yelling at thin air. The next stop is clearly the Britney Spears-famous 5150, and she blows out a weary, rumpled breath and heads to work. If Dan's there, she's ignoring him.

Lucifer still hasn't called.

* * *

Up in Lux, the club has been shuttered for the third night in a row and Maze is getting antsy. "Look, Lucifer, we all know you're having a total nervous breakdown, but we still have to pay the bills. If we just close down indefinitely because you can't handle knocking up your human girlfriend, someone's going to get – "

There's a muffled growl from the bar, where he is leaning with his head in his arms and his, oh, sixth glass of scotch. "I'll just bloody bamboozle the bills away. You know that."

Maze shoots a despairing look at Amenadiel. "You handle this," she says. "I'm going to take a long Jacuzzi soak, with a dildo. Good luck."

Maze clacks up the stairs in her stilettos as Amenadiel also looks at the sky in search of help, but doesn't get it. "Luci. . ."

"Oh, piss off, will you? Leave me to hit rock bottom in peace."

"I think you hit it a while ago. Now you're eating through it with hydrochloric acid."

That startles Lucifer into a snort. "I never knew you had a sense of humor, brother."

Amenadiel smiles wryly. "I keep it under wraps." He pauses, then sits down next to his disconsolate sibling. "Look, I know what I suggested a few nights ago, but maybe this is actually a blessing in disguise."

"I do so sorely need to shank you," Lucifer mumbles. "If you start in with that blessing twaddle, a child is a gift from Dad, blah-de- _bloody_ -blah – "

"Just think about it for a second, all right?" Amenadiel snaps. "You and Dad. . . maybe this is a way for you two, I don't know, to understand each other."

"Oh, I knew it. It's about kissing and making up with the Big Man, not anything to do with me."

Amenadiel rolls his eyes at the ceiling. With a diligent effort of will, he does not pummel his brother on the spot. "Look. You know. It's his thing. He's the Father. Maybe if you are too, maybe if you finally see what it takes – "

"The one thing you're supposed to do as a father is to BE there for your bloody CHILDREN!" Lucifer jerks upright, regrets it, and groans. "And if he can't fulfill that one tiny little detail, how am I supposed to think that this is going to have any bearing on his uncounted millennia of shitting on me and everything I could possibly do or ever – "

"It's not like he didn't try everything beforehand, Luci!" Amenadiel clenches a fist atop the polished surface of the bar. "It's not like he didn't want to make up with you, or decided to throw you out after the first argument! You know, you both know, how it came to that!"

"Just stop. Please stop."

"So," Amenadiel bulls on ruthlessly, ignoring him. "Is that what you're going to do? Throw this one out before it can ever disappoint you?"

Something of that cuts through Lucifer's disastrous haze, as he vaguely remembers Dr. Linda saying the same thing. Close to it. He's not sure. Fuck, his head hurts.

"No," he says. "No, of course I don't _want_ to be as much as a titanic failure as He was! I just. . ."

"Maybe you could," Amenadiel prompts. "Try."

"Try to be a titanic failure? Not much trying needed there, brother dearest!"

"No. Try _not_ to be one. Think of it this way. If the Devil could be a better father than God was, at least according to the Devil, isn't it. . . some kind of mercy, almost a full-circle thing? Some chance at forgiveness? I don't know. I honestly don't. But it's something. And it's strong."

Lucifer blinks. Clearly the idea – of being a good father just to prove Dad wrong – hasn't occurred to him. Though Amenadiel isn't sure this is the greatest way to go about it, at least it has to be an improvement on drunken histrionics, and after a very long pause, Lucifer inhales and sits upright. "Right. Be a better dad than Dad, prove a point, we all make up and it's skippy-dippy, bloody Hallmark channel family reunion. At least somebody's the bloody optimist."

Amenadiel sighs. "I think that's overstating it a bit, but it's a place to start. What about Chloe? Do you just want to let her do this by herself? Do you _want_ to run?"

Lucifer looks as if Amenadiel just asked if he wants to hack off his right arm with a rusty saw. "What? No! Of course I don't want to leave her!"

"Then – " Amenadiel makes a fist and hits him, semi-gently (but only semi) on the shoulder. "Figure. It. Out."

"You're really not qualified to give anyone life advice," Lucifer mutters, but pushes away the bottle instead of pouring a seventh scotch. "Just so you know."

"What about your pet doctor, then? Maze's friend? What did she say?"

Lucifer doesn't know whether to be impressed or annoyed that Amenadiel knows he's already been to see her. "Still feeling the need to play Dr. Canaan on occasion, brother?"

"Just answer the damn question, Luci."

"Ooh," he smirks. "You said a naughty word."

The amount of self-control it takes Amenadiel to keep from throttling him increases visibly. He waits, with a pointed look.

"Fine," Lucifer sighs. "She wanted to know why I stopped loving Dad. Have you ever heard something so stupid?"

Amenadiel's gaze flickers. He tries to keep his tone neutral as he says, "And?"

"I – " Lucifer shrugs irritably. "I was like any son, I suppose. Of course I wanted my father's love. Then when I didn't get that, I thought I could at least make him proud. Then when that failed. . ." He trails off. "I suppose I decided I would have to settle for his hatred."

Amenadiel winces, but doesn't have anything to say to that. He almost looks sympathetic, as if he might reach out and put a hand on Lucifer's shoulder, but doesn't. There is a long silence, until Maze's voice calls, "If you were going to hug and make up, now would be the time."

"I thought you were in the bath. With the dildo."

Maze shrugs. "This was more entertaining."

"You're a sick little demon, Mazikeen."

"I know." She grins through her dark-red lipstick. "It's what you like about me."

Lucifer manages a grin back, despite himself. He and Amenadiel look at each other, cough, shuffle feet, and finally execute a blink-and-you'll-miss-it bro-hug, pound each other on the back, and sit down in the lounge. He's not exactly rushing out to register at Babies R Us, but at least they have managed to get him talking more sensibly. Amenadiel privately thinks that he deserves some kind of distinguished angelic service award, as it's been more of an ordeal than trying to drag Lucifer back to hell (which he has accepted, for the time being, isn't going to do any good). So of course he's stuck with the fallout of this instead. Time to get cracking.

They manage to sort out that when Lucifer is immortal, he's sterile; a creature can't be half-mortal and half-immortal, it has to be one or the other. Hence why in the usual course of things, he doesn't have to worry about an "accident" – otherwise, given the amount of sex he's had, he would definitely have been dragged on Maury by now. He could mate with a female celestial being (Lucifer winces horribly at the word "mate") but not a mortal woman. Yet with Chloe, well, she makes him fully human, and therefore, the prospect of Morningstar Junior is on the table, just as it now is. The baby could be a human with latent angelic powers, or just a human, or a full-fledged Nephilim – a human-angel crossbreed with dangerous and unpredictable abilities. As, to say the least, the Devil has never escaped hell, moved to Los Angeles, fallen in love with a human woman, and accidentally conceived a child during a boozy romantic weekend, they are in slightly unprecedented territory.

"If it is a Nephilim, it's going to attract. . ." Amenadiel hesitates. "Well, you know the kind of things that are interested in misusing angelic powers better than I do."

"They lay one FINGER, TENTACLE, or other PROTUBERANCE on Chloe _or_ the child, I will tear them in half with my bare hands and pick my teeth with their bloody vertebrae!"

Amenadiel and Maze share a wry look. "Warming to the idea?" Maze says sleekly.

"I am not warming to any idea. I am just stating a clearly obvious fact."

His brother and his demon give each other another of those annoying "uh huh" looks, and Lucifer huffs. "Stop that, it's undignified."

"Undignified?" Amenadiel repeats. "I'm guessing you haven't looked in a mirror the past three days?"

Lucifer huffs again. "Questions of dignity aside, anything that tries to get its miserable grubby paws on the spawn will have to go through me, and I will not, I assure you, be pulling punches."

"Next phase," Maze says. "Get him to stop calling it the spawn."

"Baby steps," Amenadiel sighs. "Literally."

It takes a while longer, but they finally manage to order Lucifer to go upstairs, shower, change, shave, tell himself he's an idiot several times (Maze's suggestion) and go over to Chloe's. Hence why when Chloe gets home with Trixie that afternoon, she is confused to find a parking ticket from the City of Los Angeles sitting on the table, along with a check in elaborate black handwriting for the exact amount. _Up yours, Detective Douche_ is painstakingly and beautifully calligraphed on the memo line.

"Really," she says, looking at the information. "Lux is 666 Hollywood Boulevard. You convinced the planning people to actually give you that as an address."

Lucifer, who's sitting across the table, smiles faintly. "You know how persuasive I can be."

She does, at that. "Tell me you didn't schtup the city zoning authority clerk."

"No. Just a few strategic compliments and promises not to reveal the little money-laundering scheme he was running on the side."

Chloe sighs. She can't deny that she's happy to see him and that he isn't acting like a completely crazy person, but she's still wary, and checks over her shoulder to make sure Trixie has gone into her room. "What are you doing here, Lucifer? Because I've had enough of your meltdowns by now, and if this is about – "

"No, I. . ." He looks down, fiddling with his cufflink. "Actually I. . . wanted to apologize."

"Sorry, what was that? I don't think I caught that."

He grimaces, but is clearly aware he deserves it. "I wanted to apologize. My recent behavior has been completely beastly, and I'm. . . well, I said it before, but. . . I really am sorry."

Chloe crosses her arms, regarding him levelly. "I'd hope so," she says at last.

"You know I have my – " He waves a hand. "Well, I have my. The point is, I've managed, as usual, to cock it right royally up, and when I should have been. . ." He hesitates. As much as he adores her, she knows this is still new for him. "Thinking about you."

Chloe glances down, biting her lip. "I'm not made out of china, Lucifer. I've done this before."

"Yes, but. . ." He gropes for words. "I should have been doing anything other than what I was doing, and I allowed me to get in the way again, and. . . I hope I haven't utterly botched it. Just don't go back to Dan, I beg you. I don't deserve it, but I'd like another chance."

She hesitates a long moment, then looks up. Rather ludicrously, her first instinct is to hold out her hand, as if sealing a business deal. Lucifer gets up, takes it, and they shake properly. Then they look at each other, and he pulls her hard into his arms. They're still standing like that, his chin on her head, when Trixie pops out of her room and wants to know what's for dinner. They almost don't hear her, until she says in a stage whisper, "Oh right, adult nap time," and dives back behind her door.

Lucifer snorts. "Adult nap time? Bloody hell, we didn't even have any clothes off."

Chloe pulls back far enough to smack him lightly. "You do not need to think of any extra ways to scar her for life, you know."

"Darling, I think of ways to scar her for life all the time."

"I know." Chloe sighs. "Come on. Let's make dinner."

They do, with Lucifer actually pitching in and cooking and offering to clean up afterward, firmly aware that he is on probation. They don't feel up to making up in a more physical way that night, but at least the next few weeks are relatively peaceful. There are several cases at work, because there always are, but those don't manage to wreak too much havoc. Chloe is still feeling pretty shitty in the mornings, it hasn't always subsided by the time she gets to the station, and she finally has to tell Olivia. Her boss's reaction is the same as nearly everyone else's. "Didn't you two just get together like, a few months ago?"

"Not that this is any of your business, but it was. . ." Chloe waves a hand. "A bit of a surprise to us too. So I just. . . wanted to give you a heads up that I'll probably need some time off."

"Well, congratulations," Olivia says, still clearly somewhat skeptical. But she agrees to it and sends Chloe on her way.

They're coming up on the twelve-week scan, which Chloe has made an appointment for, and she's checking the booking in her planner when a shadow falls over her desk. It's Dan, holding a box of original Krispy Kremes. "Hey, I just remembered that you liked these when you were expecting Trixie, and. . ." He shrugs awkwardly. "I thought I'd offer them. See if there was anything you wanted to talk about."

"Oh. Yeah. Thanks." Chloe hesitates, but takes the donuts. "We're . . . we're working on things. It's getting better. That's about all I have to say."

Dan doesn't look entirely convinced, but nods. "Right, well, you know where I am. I'll be by for Trix on Friday."

He heads off as Chloe looks after him with a frown, as it always unsettles her whenever Dan tries to make up. Some lingering distrust after the whole Malcolm fiasco, maybe, wondering what the catch is. Not that she doesn't appreciate it, but. . . pretty soon the news is going to get out that she's having Lucifer Morningstar's baby, and that won't be the most pleasant thing in the world for Dan to deal with, especially if he has to hear jokes at the water cooler every day. The department knows Lucifer, and they even know that Lucifer and Chloe are a thing by now, but still. She doesn't have to like Dan to feel a twinge of sympathy, and she sighs, then eats a donut. Then two, just for good measure. She is constantly hungry these days. At least when the queasiness stops.

When she gets home that evening, she finds Lucifer poring over a copy of _What to Expect When You're Expecting_ , making notes, and muttering about how ridiculous this whole thing is. This turns out to be something he's put a lot of time into, as he's now following her around and pestering her about whether she thinks she's getting enough folic acid. Which Chloe appreciates, especially in comparison to complete psychotic breaks, but it's still annoying. "Look, Lucifer, one of us here is the parent and the person who has done this before, and it is not you. I appreciate the research tips, but I've got this under control." She stops, reconsiders, then says, somewhat more gently, "It's sweet that you're trying, though. It really is."

They get through the weekend without any further detriment to their strained relationship, but then have an argument on Monday night about whether he should go with her to the scan the next day. Chloe mentions that this is usually when they find out if it's a boy or a girl, and he does his best not to panic on the spot. "Is there any chance it's, I don't know, actually a hideous fell demon that we'll have to cage up somewhere and ignore?"

Chloe smacks him on the arm. "If it's a demon, that is your fault."

Lucifer looks rather queasy himself. If it's a boy, he'll conclude that this whole thing is in fact a demented joke and permanently flip out, which Chloe would really prefer to avoid. Especially when she's the one who should be paid attention to and making sure the kid is healthy and there aren't serious complications, which is nerve-wracking enough even when your significant other _isn't_ the least helpful person present. "If you can't handle it, stay home. I'll go alone."

"I – " He shakes his head. "No, absolutely not, you're not going alone."

"I could take Maze," Chloe suggests. "Seems like she'd hold it together a lot better."

Lucifer considers this, realizes that Maze would never let him live it down, and sighs deeply. "No. I'll come."

Which is how they find themselves in the exam room the next day with a very perky nurse who at first called them "Mr. and Mrs. Morningstar," which they rather awkwardly had to correct her on. Chloe hisses as the cold gel touches her belly, and Lucifer looks like a cat up a tree as the nurse gets the wand, switches it on, and the machine comes to life. A small, grainy-grey image appears on the screen, and she beams, "Look. It's your baby."

Lucifer looks as if he might be ill. "Does it have horns?" he blurts out.

The nurse laughs, clearly appreciating the joke, as she moves the wand around. "No, no horns. Everything's looking good."

"What about a tail, it doesn't have one of those, does it?"

"Nope, no tail!"

"What about wings? A slightly demonic aura?"

The nurse shoots a startled look at Chloe, who mouths, _Just ignore him._ "Ah, no, no wings. Ten fingers, ten toes. Stats normal. We can find out if it's a boy or a girl if you like."

Lucifer clutches his chair as if he is on the deck of the _Titanic_ and it is about to sink from underneath him. "Are you _sure_ it's not some kind of strange spawn?"

"No, as I said, it looks like a perfectly healthy. . ." The nurse concentrates, as Lucifer practically hyperventilates. "Baby girl."

Lucifer sags in his chair, looking as if he might be on the verge of actually crossing himself (does the Devil vanquish himself if he does?) The nurse checks a few other things, gives them a clean bill of health, and switches off the machine, wiping the gel off as Chloe sits up. "Well, Trixie's going to be happy," she says wryly.

Lucifer doesn't answer, as he has his eyes closed and is muttering under his breath. The nurse gives Chloe a _you've got your work cut out with him, huh?_ look, to which she shoots a _you have no idea_ look in return. They head out to reception, Chloe makes an appointment for her 20-week scan and midwife checkups, and they manage to make it to the car before Lucifer collapses. "A girl. Bloody hell."

"Isn't it better than a boy?" Chloe says, eyebrow arched. "At least according to you?"

"I was still hoping for the spawn!"

"I wasn't!"

They glare at each other a moment longer before Chloe slides behind the wheel, feeling it's unwise to let Lucifer drive in his delicate condition. They make it back into downtown L.A. and as it's still early in the day, head to Lux, where they break the news to Maze and Amenadiel. "A daughter?" Maze snorts. "Oh, this is going to be _good._ Are you going to wear a tiara and play teatime with her?"

"No, I absolutely am not."

Amenadiel looks amused. "Famous last words, brother?"

"If anyone wears a tiara and plays teatime, it will bloody well be you two."

"You're going to have to watch all those Disney princess movies," Maze says mercilessly. "Get brushed up."

"The Devil does not watch Disney princess movies."

"I don't know," Chloe says, digging her elbow into Lucifer's ribs. "I think you've gotten started on quite a few with Trixie."

"If she is watching them, and I happen to glance over from time to time, that does not mean I am watching them."

"Sure, Lucifer. Sure."

Lucifer is opening his mouth in further angry defense of his non-Disney-watching status when Chloe's phone buzzes, and she pulls it out to see a new text. _sooooOOOOOoooooOOOO EXCITING! well, how's my grandbaby? Girl or boy? I can't wait to come for the baby shower! Hugs and kisses – mom xoxoxoxo_

Chloe chokes. "What the – how the heck did she find out?"

The three immortal beings, who are currently immersed in a very heated discussion about whether the cartoon version of _Hercules_ is remotely accurate in its depiction of the underworld, swivel around in confusion. "What?"

"My mom somehow knows that I'm, well, and that today was. . ." Chloe is mystified until she realizes that Dan must have seen her writing down the date for the appointment when he brought the Krispy Kremes, and told Penelope. Great. Of course he did. "Oh god. She wants to throw me a baby shower."

"Didn't she already do that?"

"What, with Trixie? No, she didn't. Dan and I got married after six months of dating because I was pregnant, and we didn't exactly tell anyone, and she was off on location anyway. . ."

"What? He got you – " Lucifer makes a gesture with his hands that could indicate either a pregnant belly, or someone attempting to carry a watermelon – "after six months, and it only took me three? Well done, me! That officially makes me twice the man he is!"

"I'll pretend you didn't just say that. The point is, she's coming and she'll make a huge fuss and she'll want to invite a bunch of people I haven't seen in years, and – " Chloe grabs her phone, trying to fire off a text to dissuade her mother, but she already knows it's hopeless. "Shit."

"I don't know," Maze says, with a goading look at Lucifer. "I think we should host it here."

"No!" Lucifer yowls. "No, we are not hosting it here!"

"Lux being such a child-friendly place?" Amenadiel snorts.

"There won't be any actual children, right?" Maze points out. "Mostly horny middle-aged women, and I think that this is a _great_ place for them."

"Wh – no!" Chloe needs to put the kibosh on all of this. "We are not having a baby shower, hosted by my mother, with all the people I half know slobbering over my – my baby daddy!"

Lucifer looks as if he can't decide whether to be pleased or miffed. "Well, Detective, technically I suppose that is the term. But it's so, well, _common._ How about unparalleled stallion and stud who has propagated his superior genetics with twice the efficiency of your – "

Chloe glares at them all and swivels around, feeling the need to get her hands on a large chunk of chocolate. Right now.

They tell Trixie that night that she'll have a little sister, just as she wanted, which she is over the moon about. It's not clear if she understands that a baby will be different from a doll that she can play with and get to do as she wants and drag everywhere, but hey, at least she's happy. Once she's in bed, Chloe and Lucifer go upstairs themselves and sit down on their own bed with a sigh. What with one thing and another, they haven't really touched each other in weeks, and Chloe is just starting to feel rather round, which makes her self-conscious. Lucifer, after all, is used to thin and gorgeous supermodels, not a pregnant and slightly hormonal girlfriend who found herself getting weepy at a _Gilmore Girls_ rerun the other day.

At last, however, she shyly reaches for his hand and puts it on her hip, turns him toward her, and pulls him in for a kiss. They hold it for a second, before sighing into each other's mouths, shifting, and kissing again, quite a bit more passionately. One thing leads to another, and she actually sleeps well that night (enjoyably worn out) for what feels like the first time in forever. It also means that neither of them are wearing any clothes when Trixie runs in the next morning, with the news that Nana is on the front doorstep and should she let her in.

"What?'" Chloe snatches the duvet up in horror. It's bad enough to actually be caught with no clothes on (thank Lucifer's little joke for that) but her mother is here and. . . oh no. Oh no no no.

Trixie flashes a gap-toothed grin at them, as Lucifer is studiously clutching a pillow to his chest. "Yes, that's very fascinating. Now please toddle off, eh?"

Trixie dashes out, forgetting to shut the door behind her, so Lucifer has to wrap himself in the quilts, hop over, and do so. "Clearly this is a glimpse at our destiny, Detective."

"Interruptions do come with the territory when you have kids."

"Kids. Oh bloody hell, plural. _Kids_. Just because _kid_ wasn't enough." Lucifer sighs deeply, before an even more horrifying thought occurs to him. "We'll have to make sure this doesn't happen again, won't we? Oh no. Oh, no."

"Of course," Chloe says wickedly. "You could get a vasectomy."

Lucifer clamps his hands over his private bits, with a look of total shock that anyone would consider mutilating them. He's still ruffled when they, dressed and showered, grit their teeth to head downstairs and face the music, or rather, the mother. Penelope squeals, rushes to kiss Chloe, wants to know how she's eating, how she's feeling, and so forth, before making for Lucifer. "ConGRATULATIONS, Daddy! This must just be so exciting!"

"Exciting," Lucifer says, smiling fixedly. "Yes. Exactly the word I would choose."

If Penelope notices anything odd about this, she doesn't say so, as she already has a laundry list of baby shower plans, and Chloe has to do her best to rein her in. "Mom, can we please, I don't know, not make this a spectacle?"

"But honey! I didn't get to do it for Trixie, and since I'm having another granddaughter, I just wanted to make sure – "

"Yes, of course, but it's not really my. . . our style, you know? I don't even know half these people, and I haven't talked to the other half in years."

"Well, who do you want me to invite?"

"We'd just. . . something small. Lucifer's brother and, uh, bartender, and Ella, and that's about it. Oh, and Dr. Linda, if she can make it, but really, we don't need anyone more than that."

Penelope is clearly befuddled as to who invites their bartender to a baby shower, especially when the bartender looks like Maze. She is not going to be satisfied with this small of an event, however, and Chloe finally wearily agrees that all right, maybe a few others. Which, knowing her mom, is going to be the entire cast, crew, and extras of _Revenge of the Space Cowboys_ or whatever her big thing is. Still trading on all seven of those, supplanted with bit parts in TV serials, still thinks maybe Chloe should get back in the business. She's so young and pretty. Not that this is remotely likely, but it's just easier to let her mom think whatever she does.

The planning takes the next several days, which Chloe tries to avoid as much as possible. There is a finicky case at work, and to her annoyance, she's not allowed to take it, as Olivia points out that as she's now over four months pregnant, they're going to start shifting her off active field work. Chloe, who isn't good at not doing anything, doesn't like this very much, but she's also aware that it's going to be hard to argue. Instead she gets stuck with the desk-job end of things, not to mention Dan, lurking like he wants to say something, but not actually doing so. The news has started circulating through the office by now, and Chloe has tried to get them to stop wisecracking in front of him, but, well, a certain kind of guy just thinks it's a bucket of chuckles. When Dan turns up on Friday afternoon to pick up Trixie, it's clear, however, that his patience is running low. "Can you please get them to stop joking about this every time I turn around?"

"Can _I_ get them to stop? I've already told them at least three times. It's not my fault they're third-grade idiots, all right?"

Dan chews on that for a moment, but finally jerks a nod. "So. . . what is it?"

"It's a." Chloe looks down. "It's a girl."

"Okay. Well." Dan's throat moves as he swallows. "I hope that works out for you."

"Daddy!" Trixie runs past to hug him, which gives Chloe a brief, sad pang that this is her life. Staying with her and Lucifer during the week, with Dan on the weekend, back and forth like a ping pong ball. At least she's a resilient kid, everyone is mostly managing to be civil, and it's certainly not like Chloe is going to get back together with Dan, but she really doesn't want this to be the case with another one. Switching between her during the week, Lucifer on the weekends, which assumes that he will want to see it even then. He's gotten better about the whole thing, but "excited" is still not the word she'd use either. Not when he keeps calling it the spawn. Like everyone keeps pointing out, she got pregnant accidentally three months into her relationship with the man who is firmly convinced that he is, and certainly is strange enough to possibly be, the actual Devil, and has the literal grandfather of all daddy issues. This doesn't sound like a recipe for stability and success.

Lucifer has reopened Lux after his week of freakouts, so he's there most nights. That's how they've done their relationship thus far, since after all they weren't that serious before this little bump in the road, but Chloe misses him. She doesn't want to be clingy, though, and she knows he needs his space. She distractedly approves whatever her mom has planned for the baby shower, just wanting to get this out of the way. At least Lucifer isn't expected to be there, since it's a "girls only" event, which means Penelope's girls; all three of Chloe's suggestions (Ella, Maze, and Dr. Linda) have somehow missed the cut. Speaking of which, she knows he's been to see Dr. Linda a few more times, though as always, it's hard to tell if it's having an effect.

Part of her wishes Lucifer would just talk about this with her instead. He seems to have adopted the mindset that he will fulfill the exact letter of what is minimally required of him, read the books and help decorate the nursery and provide financial support. Anything else, though, is iffy. He's liable to tune out at the thought of midnight feedings or diaper changes or a fever when they're two years old and can't tell you what they need, all the hard, mucky work of parenting. Chloe doesn't want to do this by herself, obviously, but she's still wondering how much use he's going to be, especially since he cannot abide the thought of any . . . _fluids_. . . getting on his expensive suits, and God knows babies do give off those.

The next few days are almost ordinary, if such a thing exists recently. The evening before the shower, Chloe finishes some paperwork a bit late (she can already tell this is going to be a pain in the ass for the next four months) and runs out to pick up a few things before heading home. She's on her phone as she comes out of the store, reaching for her keys, and as such is surprised by the guy who steps rather suddenly out of the shadows, wearing a jacket and jeans that makes him look like either a failed pickup artist or an upscale used car salesman. "Chloe Decker?"

Startled, Chloe almost drops her phone. "Excuse me? Do we know each other?" She's pretty sure she hasn't seen this particular one before, and she has a pretty good working knowledge of the general lowlifes that hang around most sections of L.A.

"Well, I know _of_ you." He shrugs, holding out his hand. "How are you?"

Chloe doesn't take it, eyeing him narrowly. "You've got twenty seconds, buddy. Otherwise – " She flashes the badge at her belt. "Just so you're clear."

"Okay, cool, I'm totally cool. Easy. I just. . . well, I work for a guy, and we're into rare specimens. Unique things. We know someone who pays top dollar for that. And we're just wondering if you'd like to come talk to us about some of the stuff we've got going on."

"And you think I'd be interested in that why?"

"Well. . . " He glances at her stomach. "We've heard rumors."

Chloe puts a hand over it protectively. "You really think I'm going to go sit down and talk to you and your skeezy mysterious boss about whatever you want to _pay me_ for my kid?" Her voice rises in disbelief. "I'm pretty sure I could have you arrested for attempted human trafficking on the spot – I'm a cop, remember? Yeah, get lost."

She starts toward the car, even as he runs after her, pressing a business card into her hand. "Just in case you want to think about it."

"I don't. Please don't come near me or my family again."

She swings behind the wheel and pulls out a little harder than necessary, still rattled, glancing into her rearview mirror all the way back to the house. It's now baby shower central, which makes her cringe as she walks in, balloons and teddy bears and bags everywhere. Her mom and Trixie are making decorations at the kitchen table, and they look up at her rather harried entrance. "Honey, are you okay?"

"Yeah, Mom, I'm fine." Chloe forces a smile. "Monkey, you make dinner with Nana?"

She keeps glancing out the window, but of course there's nothing there. Wonders if she should call Lucifer, then shrugs it off. The last thing she needs is another reason for him to go apeshit.

The next morning arrives with no untoward occurrences, and she gets up, drags herself out of bed (she is starting to feel more and more like a beached whale these days) showers, and puts on nice clothes and makeup, deciding that she can get through one afternoon of people fluttering around and sharing embarrassing mom stories. The guests start to trickle in around eleven AM, all of whom are delighted to see Penelope first before they make their way over to her. Most of them are nice, but she can see the judgment in the eyes of a few: once more having a kid with a guy she hasn't been dating that long, she isn't even married to this one, and Lucifer Morningstar does have, well, a _reputation_. She can see them wondering if she is, to put it crudely, just one among several side hoes. It makes her grit her teeth, but hey, they have presents, and this is only one day. Only one. Just has to get through it. She can do it.

Trixie is in her element, spoiled and petted and paid endless cooing attention to, but Chloe sits on the couch feeling almost invisible at her own party. God, she has nothing in common with these women. She just wants to call the whole thing off, go over to Lux, find Lucifer, and, she doesn't know, have him sing to her for a bit. He hasn't played the piano once since this started. That's how she knows he's not feeling himself, no matter how much of a good face he puts on.

She opens the cards, thanks everyone for coming, and hopes they'll take the hint and clear out, but no, they're settling in for an afternoon of hors d'oeuvres and wine and chatting with Penelope about their toyboy gardeners and their nose jobs and the dismal fate of their stock portfolios. Finally, she just hits her limit, and stands up with a jerk. "Mom, everyone, thanks so much, this has been terrific, but I'm – I actually just remembered, I have somewhere I need to go, so – is it okay if I just, well, leave you to it? You're having a great time and all, I just. . . you've got this, Trixie's happy, I need to run, okay?"

"Are you sure, honey? This is your party!"

"Yeah, you've done a wonderful job, you really have, but. . . you know." She manages to keep smiling. "Gotta go."

Chloe heads upstairs, changes out of the dress and pantyhose, pulls on her jeans (she's had to start buying from the maternity section) shirt, and jacket, swipes her hair into a messy ponytail, and heads out. She doesn't even know where to go. She's off work, and she doesn't want to try to drag Lucifer off to a dark corner just as Lux is starting to fill up for the evening, especially when she has no idea what to say to him. Besides, he's probably hiding for all he's worth anyway. Wanting it over. She can't really blame him.

She ends up on the beach, one that she and Lucifer have come to before. He says it's where he first arrived from hell, where he burned his wings, which – well, Lucifer is Lucifer, but it's a calming place for him, and she can't deny that she's hoping to find him there as she walks down the sand, hair whipping in the salt breeze. A few kids and dogs are running and playing by the water, and it summons a faint, wry smile to her lips. Is this how he feels? Like he's looking at a regular family life from the wrong side of a dark mirror, never able to reach it or touch it or actually give into it? Wanting it, somehow, but trapped?

She stops, staring out at the horizon, the distant shapes of passing cargo ships. Lost in thought, until a voice says, "Chloe?"

She whirls, heart pounding, praying that it's him (the irony of praying for her devil boyfriend to appear doesn't escape her, but so be it). It's not, but. . . it's someone _like_ him, if that makes any sense. Tall, cultured, good-looking, nice suit, BMW logo on his keyring, expensive cufflinks. A deep, educated timbre to his voice, that strange light in his eye. Seeing her staring, he inclines his head. "Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you, Miss Decker."

Chloe holds her jacket shut instinctively. She's getting fed up with the random materialization of strange men, and doesn't feel like being polite in return. "Yes. Hello."

"I'm – well, it was my associate who approached you the other day, and I'm afraid he might not have been very tactful. I'm the person who wanted to meet you. You can call me Mr. Thanatos."

"Mr. Thanatos? What are you, that villain from the Marvel Universe collecting the magical stones?"

He laughs, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "No, but likewise, I do have an interest in special people and things, and you have to understand you're currently in a very special position. There hasn't been a potential Nephilim since. . . oh, the dawn of time, isn't it?"

Chloe reaches for the Taser she keeps inside her jacket, wondering if that will be enough. "Look, as I said to your junior henchman, there is no way I'm interested in this conversation or whatever you think I'm going to get out of doing business with you. I'm a cop, by the way. I can get someone down here in a hurry, so. . . step along."

"I'm sure you can." He doesn't seem concerned about the possibility. "But that's not the best idea for anyone, so please, Miss Decker, think about this. Nobody needs to get hurt. Just a little cooperation, we can check everything's in order, and – "

"Chloe!"

All at once, something happens in front of her. Mr. Thanatos seems to burn with spectral light, silhouetting a pair of six-foot black wings to either side of him, stretching like the gates into the darkest abyss of the universe, and then he's just not there, no hint that he ever was, as she stands there with her mouth wide open and a hand pressed to her chest. The next instant, Lucifer reaches her and grabs her wrists with a panicked expression. She has never been so glad to see him in her entire life, and she clutches onto him, shaking, even as he's trying to get a good look at her. "Detective, what the – who were you just talking to? I thought – bloody hell, for a second, I thought – "

"I don't know." Chloe is close to losing it. "I don't know. Yesterday some creep propositioning me on his behalf, and then today the baby shower, and it's my mom's friends not so silently considering what a failure I am, and I came here to get away, and then he showed up, and you – " She pounds Lucifer's chest. "You idiot, I don't know if I can still count on you to have my back these days, and I – just stop it, all right? Stop running away from me."

He closes his eyes, with a harrowed look on his face, and doesn't answer, letting her hit him, until she finally stops, drops her fists, and just stands there, the wind whipping both of them. "I'm sorry," he says at last, very quietly. "I'm sorry, Chloe."

She sniffs, and he pulls out his handkerchief, offering it to her, as she wipes her eyes brusquely and blows her nose, and he offers her an arm, escorting her up the sand to his car (properly parked this time, she notices). "Let's go somewhere quiet and talk then, eh? Maze can handle the club for the night. It's not as if I'm much fun at parties these days."

She gets in, and he actually doesn't drive like a lunatic on the way to some hole-in-the-wall little Italian restaurant, the kind of under-the-radar place that celebrities go to have a nice dinner. Chloe glances around warily, as there are always potential paparazzi ambushes, but nobody A-list must be here tonight, and they get a table in the corner. She doesn't drink, of course, so Lucifer refrains as well, in the name of solidarity, though he does heave a put-upon sigh as he takes a sip of ginger ale. "I mean, I don't see how much harm just a bit of booze can do babies, really. It's not as if it ever stops them from hitting it once they get bigger."

Chloe sighs, not in the mood to disabuse Lucifer of his very mistaken notions about fetal alcohol syndrome. Instead, she tells him about the odd people who have popped up recently, first Central Casting Shady Henchman last night and then Mr. Thanatos today. At this, Lucifer's expression goes very sharp, and he leans forward, clearly unsettled. "Sorry, say what? Thanatos? Black wings? Interested in whether the nipper is a Nephilim?"

"Yes." Chloe rubs her fingers in the shadows under her eyes. "Why, sound like one of your old drinking buddies?"

"Only. . . _Thanatos_ means _death_ in Greek, and with the rest of the description. . ." Lucifer's face stays dark. "I'd say you just met Azrael. Bloody hell."

"What? Who?"

"Azrael. The Angel of Death." He doesn't look glib, for once. He looks scared.

"I thought you were the angel of death."

"Common misconception, darling. I'm not the angel of death, I just deal with the baddies after they've snuffed it. The actual death-dealing, the one who takes them away when it's their time, that is, fortunately, not my job. It's his. And, well. . ." Lucifer hesitates. "He's quite good at it."

Normally Chloe either smiles or tolerantly shrugs off his angel/demon, heaven-and-hell business, but this gives her a real chill. "And he's interested in the kid because. . . ?"

"Because our kind all remember what happened the last time the Nephilim got loose, and. . . ." Lucifer pauses again. "Well, let's just say nobody wants it to happen again."

"But it. . . it's a baby, Lucifer! It's not some. . . agent of evil!" Chloe puts a hand over her stomach. "What is this, like _Twilight_ where they fear the magical child is somehow going to destroy some mystic touchy-feely supernatural balance? _Twilight_ was terrible, I don't think – "

"I didn't make the rules, Detective." He looks up at her, candlelight reflecting somberly in his dark eyes. "I told you this was never supposed to happen. Nephilim or no, the Devil's daughter is going to be. . . different."

"And so what? If this guy's another angel, doesn't that make him your, you know, brother too?"

"Technically, yes, but the one who hangs out with the Wrong Crowd, comes home late after curfew, and is what you're _not_ supposed to be when you grow up. I never knew him that well. He is the oldest of our parents' children; the instant there was life, there also had to be death, and Mum tried to keep her younger ones away from him. He's not evil, the same way I'm not, but he's bloody merciless. No crumb of kindness in him. You have to be, to take whoever's destined for their end. Whether it's a hardened criminal who deserves it, or a helpless child who's just frightened and calling for his mother." Lucifer's lips tighten, and he glances away, clearly having taken himself aback with that analogy. "One of the things that made me start falling out with Dad, actually. I was the only one out of all us kids who questioned the fairness of his little science project with humanity. Why make it, if you were just going to sit back and do nothing while they were crying out for you to help them in this carnival shell game you'd set up, so they could never win, no matter what? Do you know how it feels, where you're the only person who sees something and nobody else seems to think there's a bloody problem at all, they should just carry on like nothing, and you start wondering if you're the mad one?"

"Yeah," Chloe says, barely above a whisper. "Palmetto Street."

"Ah." He smiles grimly. "Of course. Not quite the same thing, but yes, I can see how that would come to mind. Well, Dad had a dreary lot to say about free will and the importance of humans choosing for themselves, which was why I served him his own medicine with Eve and the apple." By the look on his face, it's clear this is an unexpectedly raw memory. "That was the breaking point. I tested him, he lost his hypocritical mind, punished me and them and threw us all out of Eden forever, and now here we _bloody_ are."

Chloe can't help but be impressed and relieved that he's finally opening up to her, at least his Lucifer-y version of things. Fine, she can play ball with this. "And so what, Azrael has orders to stop another Nephilim from being born?"

"Yes. Something like that. I should have known this was going to happen. I should have known. That the instant I started thinking I could actually do this, Dad was going to throw some ridiculous legal loophole at me and burn it all down."

His eyes are depthless, frightening, several thousands of years away, his face white, his fists clenched on the table, even as their waiter puts down their entrees. Chloe thanks him and shoos him off, still looking worriedly at Lucifer. "Hey," she says softly. "Don't shut me out again. Don't run away. We can deal with this."

"I hope so, darling." Some of the terror recedes, and he manages a smile. "But if nothing else, I hope I have made quite clear that Azrael isn't somebody you tangle with lightly, or expect to survive the experience of doing so. And I'm not putting you in harm's way – especially since if you were with me when I went to pay him a visit, I'd be mortal."

The way he says _pay him a visit_ makes Chloe shudder. "What are you going to do? Take on the Angel of Death single-handedly?"

"If I have to." Lucifer looks at his food, evidently discovering he doesn't have much of an appetite after all. After they finish and pay, he is edgy about leaving her alone for the night, and drives them back to her house, where the baby shower has mercifully ceased, and Penelope and Trixie are eating the leftovers. Chloe thanks her mother and finally, finally manages to get her to go, then sags amidst the bags and boxes and endless reams of cute little-girl stuff. How do you go about decorating the nursery and picking out names and whatever else with the knowledge that the freaking Angel of Death might be after your child, and your crazy boyfriend is clearly planning some bare-knuckle diplomacy if he doesn't change his damn mind posthaste?

Neither of them sleep particularly well that night. Lucifer keeps starting at small noises, then finally gets up and sits by the window, still and watchful as a statue, occasionally glancing over at her. When it's light out, he announces that he's taking her and Trixie over to Lux, as it's Saturday, and they'll stay there while he goes out and does a little investigation. Dan will have to be informed that last-minute plans have come up, he'll get his visitation next weekend, and Maze will look after them. She'll be happy to see Trixie, whether or not she admits it.

Chloe argues with Lucifer on the entire drive over as to whether he's going by himself. She can grudgingly see the sense in not taking a five-months-pregnant woman who would render him mortal (and therefore useless), but she really wants someone else there. When they get to Lux and head inside, he disappears and reappears with the strange, curved dark knives that she recognizes as the special blades supposed to be able to kill other immortals. How the literal hell would you kill the personification of Death, though? Wouldn't that just make him stronger?

Chloe jumps to her feet nervously. "Lucifer, please don't do anything stupid."

"You realize who you're talking to?" a voice says from behind her. Amenadiel steps out, also girded for action. "That might be a reach."

Lucifer looks like a teenager caught attempting to sneak out of the house. "What the blazes are you doing here?"

"Stopping you – " Amenadiel nods at Chloe – "from doing something stupid."

"I bloody well do not need a babysitter, Amenadiel."

"No, but you could use a. . ." He raises an eyebrow. "Wingman."

Lucifer is caught off guard, as he is still not at all used to people wanting to work with him, to help him. Especially not his brother, with whom he has had a few millennia of a fraught relationship. But it's clear to Chloe that the two of them still love each other, especially since Lucifer never complains about Amenadiel calling him "Luci," the only one who does. It's oddly adorable. You know, for the Devil and his big bro.

"Besides," Amenadiel says. "I know who you're going after. You need backup."

"Oh?" Maze scowls. "Who is he going after?"

"Just a local lowlife." Lucifer glares pointedly at Amenadiel. "Nobody interesting."

"Right." Maze surveys them skeptically. "You know, if either of you get stabbed with those things or anything else this 'local lowlife' is throwing at you, I don't have any more feathers to save either of you." Her tone is almost soft, worried, instead of her usual brazen unconcern.

"We'll be fine," Lucifer says. "Especially with Tall, Dark, and Boring there. He'll just do his time-slowing bit and it'll be no problem at all."

Amenadiel opens his mouth, as if to point out that this might not work on a fellow immortal, one who is freshly entered into the human world and a lot more powerful than both of them, then sees Chloe watching and decides against it. "Yeah. We'll be fine."

Without further ado, the boys head out, leaving Chloe feeling like some Civil War wife waiting to see if her husband will come home from Gettysburg or Antietam. But this is absurd. She's not going to sit here and wring her hands and worry. Those two can more than handle themselves, and if something goes wrong, well, worrying isn't going to stop that either. Besides, she has plenty of work to do, and she's brought a briefcase that she needs to go through, so she finds a corner and settles down, hoping Maze won't corrupt Trixie too much in the meantime.

The day goes slowly. Lux isn't exactly a mecca of activity, and after she's finished most of her papers, Chloe goes upstairs to the penthouse, wandering restlessly. The baby has started moving recently, little flutters and twirls, and it's distracting, especially when she's trying to concentrate. Out of ideas, she sits down at the piano and valiantly attempts to pluck out Chopsticks. It sounds amateur, as usual, and she sighs. "You know," she says aloud. "Your. . . dad is much better at this, but I don't know if he's going to get around to playing again. I hope so."

The day has started out sunny, but it's getting cloudy as it wears on, and by evening, it's raining hard, heavy splashing droplets rolling like mercury on the endless windows. Thunder booms over the sea, lightning crackling in dazzling forks over the glittering metropolis. Chloe can hear the muted noise from Lux as the club starts to fill up for the evening, after having gone downstairs to retrieve Trixie. She has to resist the urge to turn on her police scanner radio, since if something _is_ going down, it's not likely the LAPD would know anything about it.

They head into Lucifer's gleaming, clearly little-used kitchen and try to make dinner, neither of them concentrating very well. Finally Trixie says, "When are they going to be back?"

"I don't know, monkey." Chloe stirs the contents of the pan with a fork. "They had to go talk to some people, and it's probably just taking them a while."

Trixie looks at her seriously. "Bad people?"

"I. . ." Chloe hesitates. "It's a little complicated."

"That's what adults say when they don't wanna tell me what's going on, Mommy."

Caught by surprise, Chloe laughs wryly. "Yeah, I guess it is. But Lucifer and Amenadiel are fine. They're totally fine. You want to watch a movie? It's a really nice TV."

Trixie eyes her, clearly aware that this is a bribe, but deigns to accept it. They eat, wash up, watch the movie, and it continues to get later. Lucifer doesn't have a guest room, because whenever he has guests, they tend to be sleeping in his bed, and it's not like he's used to having family or friends come by and crash. There is a reading room with a couch, though, and Chloe puts Trixie down there with a quilt and pillows. She kisses her goodnight, then goes out to the living room. It's still raining to beat the band, and she stares out the windows, searching, anxious. _Oh God. Where are you?_

It's just then that something crashes behind her.

She whirls around, just in time to – there's no other way to put this – see _something_ come out of the glass-fronted cabinets over Lucifer's personal bar. It's amorphous, and then it's solid, and then it's something black and shrieking, and it's flying right at her as she screams, twists away, punches it, and dives for her jacket, which has her gun in it. She pulls the trigger without hesitating, but the bullet goes right through it, not even touching it, and explodes in the rack, as it bears down on her like a whirlwind. She kicks at it awkwardly, runs to the kitchen, and grabs a carving knife, slashing at it, but this likewise has no effect. Its tendrils coil around her throat, lifting her off the floor, as she gags and kicks. Stars are starting to pop behind her eyes.

She digs her fingers beneath the shadowy, insubstantial not-stuff, aware of some kind of sentience, something huge, something watching and devouring her. Oh God. It's real. This is really happening. Some kind of terrible creature is trying to kill her, some malevolent intelligence – wings of death, is that what they call it? – and there is no other explanation for this than that it was sent by Azrael, and Lucifer and Amenadiel are somewhere out there in terrible danger, and it's _real,_ he's not Larry Morningstar from Connecticut with unresolved daddy issues and a bad childhood and a penchant for melodrama, he's Lucifer, he's _Lucifer._

She is still struggling and choking, feet dragging off the floor, starting to lose consciousness, when the elevator door dings, something hisses past her head, a blade embeds in the wall, the shadow shrieks and twists and seems to suck down a drain out of existence, and she collapses, gulping for air, as Maze strides over furiously. "What the hell?"

"Believe me," Chloe wheezes, "I want to know that myself."

Maze kneels down next to her, looking at the bruises on her neck and frowning. "Well, you've had a lucky escape. I can't figure out how you're not dead, honestly. I didn't even realize anything was – "

"I don't know where it came from, it. . ." Chloe stops, shakes her head, then grabs at Maze, wild-eyed. "You. . . it's. . . it's not just a story, is it? Not whatever act I've thought you're all in on, you're. . . you're _from hell."_

"We have been saying that all along, you know." Maze's voice, however, is less acerbic than usual as she helps Chloe up. "Lucifer would have flayed me alive if you died on my watch, though. Try not to do it again."

"Get up here faster next time, then! I shot it, but it didn't. . ." At that Chloe has a horrible thought and whirls around, rushing to the reading room. She jerks the door open, only to find Trixie still asleep, apparently having not heard a thing. But how is that possible? She shot a gun, there was a lot of crashing and thumping, she was nearly strangled, Maze threw a knife –

Right. She can't keep doing this, much as she wants to get away from it. The stakes are real. It's all real. It's all true. Her knees give out slightly, and she clutches at the doorframe.

"Need a fainting couch?" Maze says wryly.

"No, I. . ." Chloe struggles to pull herself together. "You're. . ."

"A demon? I can show you if you really want me to, but. . ." Maze shrugs, almost diffidently. "Humans tend to find it unpleasant."

Chloe hesitates, not sure what answer she wants to give. Say yes, and Maze, what, looks slightly more murdery than usual? That doesn't prove anything, gives her a chance to back out. Say no, stay safe, cling to whatever normalcy is still left. Or say yes, and. . .

She shuts the door after a final glance at Trixie, turns to Maze, and says, "Fine. Show me."

Maze considers, gives her a look as if reminding her that she did ask for this, and. . . shifts. It doesn't last for long, just a few seconds, but those are more than enough. So that when Maze resolves back into herself, Chloe is gripping the edge of the couch for all she's worth, mouth open in a silent scream. "Oh. . . my. . . "

"God?" Maze suggests. "No, the opposite. You're not driven mad and raving, are you? Not much of an improvement than if you died."

"I'm. . . either I'm not crazy, or I've just caught whatever craziness all of you have, but. . ." Chloe looks down at her shaking hands, and clenches them. "No. No, I'm not mad and raving."

Maze looks impressed, as clearly she didn't get the job of Hell's Top Torturer however many thousands of years running by having just any human able to resist her full glory. "You're a tough little mortal, I'll give you that. I can see why he loves you."

Chloe is taken aback. To say the least, the L-word isn't something that has come up between them. Knows he likes her, sure. Even knows that he likes her plenty. More than he has liked anyone he's met in – oh god – thousands upon thousands of years. "What – you're sure you don't mean something like – "

"Decker." Maze gives her a cold look. "Lucifer is out there right now facing the Angel of Death alone, or would have if Amenadiel didn't save him from his own idiocy, for you. I hope that if you're getting our world, even you can grasp what that means."

Chloe opens and shuts her mouth. In a way, that's even more difficult to wrap her head around than the fact of this actually not being the world's most elaborate hoax. But it also causes something small and warm to spark in her heart, an ember burning low and steady, until she can't help it, she looks down and grins shyly. She likes this idea. She likes it a lot. Maybe more than even that.

After a moment, she glances up, not sure what she's going to say. Something, no doubt, but she doesn't get the chance. That's when – _fuck_ , good thing she's already been broken in on the "Is This Real" front – there is a whoosh, a flash, a clap like thunder, and Amenadiel descends out of thin air, wings outstretched, supporting a hardly-conscious Lucifer. He's an absolute mess. Looks like he's gone twenty rounds in the ring with Muhammad Ali in his heyday.

Maze and Chloe bite back yelps, even as Maze rushes forward to help Amenadiel hoist him onto the couch. Chloe can't help it, she knows she needs to get away from him or she'll make his wounds worse – he can't heal when she's standing right there, keeping him mortal, keeping him weak – but she bends over him anyway. "Lucifer – Lucifer, just say something to me, all right?"

His unfocused eyes catch hers, and she sees the usual spark of terror in them that he's been hurt, he can't protect her if something happens – such as something already has. He tries to answer, but can't, head slumping back on the pillows.

"Get out of here," Maze orders tersely. "He's in bad shape. He needs to get his powers back right away, there's nothing else we can do for him if he – "

It goes against every single instinct in Chloe's body, but she backs up, retreating into the elevator, step by leaden step, as the doors swish closed and she rides down to Lux. It's still half-full, though the music has moved from the dance-floor bangers to the slower and more atmospheric. God, she needs a drink, she would kill for a drink, her hands are shaking and her mind is spinning, and she's still probably too close to him. So she pulls on her jacket and gets her keys. Maybe it's not the wisest thing in the world to be running out alone at night, after she was already nearly murdered by a supernatural being and Lucifer is upstairs bleeding all over his expensive designer sofa, and she can't even be near him, she can't even help. But right now, she has no other idea, and she can't stay here, not as long as his life hangs in the balance.

She blunders down the stairs, out into the night, and gets into her car. Drives in circles, watching the night pass, until she finds herself heading for the beach again, and gets out, hand on her gun. No running kids, no dogs. Just the dark water, washing out endlessly toward the horizon.

She has a. . . _sense_ somehow, as she moves down the sand. Doesn't know what it is, only that it's strong, and follows it to a certain patch. Then she sinks to her knees, reaching down, sifting the sand as it almost seems to glow, strangely hot against her fingers. Until there's a whoosh and a hiss, and all of a sudden, the night is – for no good reason at all – glowing. Scorching, really. Hot and brilliant as an exploding star.

Chloe whirls around, biting a startled curse, and –

No, this isn't possible, he said he burned them, he said, he said, he _said_ so much, but there's no mistaking it, it is, they _are_ –

Wings. Perfect, white, luminous. Whole.

She stares, absolutely dazzled, reaching out as if to touch them and then snatching her hand back. They're nothing like the fakes at the auction, and she looks from side to side, unable to dismiss the suspicion that perhaps Azrael is here, wanted to draw her out, had some intuition she could bring these back. That for once, she's making Lucifer different, _healing_ him, rather than damaging and draining him. But it's still just her, and after a moment, she makes a decision, leans forward, and clumsily gathers up the wings. She expected them to be heavy, but they're light – light as, well, a feather. They quiver slightly in her arms, like a wounded animal, as she carries them up the beach to the car. Puts them on the seat, and drives like Lucifer usually does on the way back to Lux.

There's a private entrance aside from the usual club one, and she takes it. Rides up in the elevator, heart pounding, as it opens and she steps out. Maze and Amenadiel are still bent over Lucifer, and don't immediately notice her entrance. Then they do, Maze starts up with a reprimand – and stares. "What the – "

"I don't know," Chloe says hoarsely. "I found them."

"He burned them!" Amenadiel is dumbstruck. "I saw it happen, he burned them!"

He stops. And then, considers that maybe, just maybe, the flame from one ordinary cigarette butt cannot permanently destroy the wings of God's formerly most-beloved son. _Samael._

Chloe carries the wings over, and Maze turns Lucifer onto his stomach. He's barely conscious, can't protest, as she takes her dagger and slits his shirt, pulling it off. Chloe, oddly, knows exactly what to do, isn't confused at all. Amenadiel holds Lucifer steady by the shoulders, Maze sitting on his legs, as Chloe lifts the first wing and touches it to the left-hand scar on his back.

Lucifer jerks and spasms, screaming. It's a terrible sound, and it brings tears to her eyes, but she doesn't stop, holding the wing there as his flesh begins to bubble and ripple, twisting and twining, taking hold of it, drawing it in. The wing flutters madly, as if trying to get away, as an unearthly wind sweeps through the penthouse, rattling and rapping the glasses and the papers and the piano keys, echoing on the windows, whispering at the door.

"One more," Chloe whispers, lifting the other one. "One more."

She claps the wing to his right-hand scar, and Lucifer screams as if his lungs are being torn out. Both the wings thrash and flap as if trying to get into the air, to rise, struggle back toward heaven, to the mystery and the magic they were wrought in, to home. Chloe kneels down and takes his face in her hands, as Maze and Amenadiel have _their_ hands full trying to control the wings, which seem to have several thousand years of stored memory to get out, everything they haven't been able to do. They beat with sounds like distant thunderclaps, like drums, and it's devouring, elemental, eternal. Except for that one perfect, motionless spot at the center of the chaos, where she is, and where he is. Nobody and nothing else can reach them there. Just them. Balancing on the edge between everything and nothing.

Chloe isn't sure she can handle it, feels the skin on her face rippling, her bones bending, as if she's being pulled toward the event horizon of a black hole. But nonetheless, she doesn't let go, and it continues for – it's impossible to say how long. Possibly forever. Possibly an instant, caught in Amenadiel's time-stretch, where a second takes a hundred years. Then all at once, it stops. The maelstrom cuts out. The wings go still, falling limp. Nobody makes a sound.

Reality rushes back in from its distorted corners, its twisted folds, and thunders over them like a wet blanket, as Chloe hauls in a gasping breath, ears ringing. "Lucifer?" She's still holding him, trying to get him to open his eyes, but he doesn't move. "Lucifer?"

A hand at her elbow. "Chloe, you can't do anything else for him. He – he'll wake up, or he won't. Reattaching the wings, all that power burning through him – the first time, when he was cast out of heaven, he. . . he wasn't the same again. I don't know what's going to happen."

She knows Amenadiel is trying to get her off, but she shoves him away. Climbs onto the couch, and lifts Lucifer's head into her lap; there is decidedly less of it than usual these days. The wings fold up against his back, and then, as with Amenadiel's when he's not using them, vanish. The silence that follows is like nothing she's ever heard. Like it must have been in the moment before creation, the moment Lucifer's parents fell in love and made the world.

Maze and Amenadiel glance at each other, clearly with no idea what to do. Finally, Maze goes to check on Trixie, who – yet again – has managed to sleep through all of this. There must be some kind of protection on her, some kind of shield, keeping her away, keeping her safe. As for Amenadiel, he gives up on the entire thing, and goes to make some coffee.

The sun is starting to come up by now. It's almost dawn, and Chloe can see something sparkling through the clouds and the endless city glow: the morning star. As the first rays of light touch his face, Lucifer stirs. His eyes move under bruised lids, and his body rattles with an inhale of breath. Then all at once, he opens his eyes, looks up at Chloe, and doesn't seem to recognize her.

"Lucifer." She grips him hard. "Lucifer, it's me. Chloe."

"Ch. . . loe?" He sounds the name out like a strange word he's never heard before.

"Yes, you idiot, it's me! Detective Decker? You know who I am. Of course you know. Me and Trixie and our. . ." She hesitates. "Our daughter."

Lucifer remains staring at her blankly, clearly not understanding. He rolls his head and says something to Amenadiel in a language she doesn't recognize, not English. Whatever angels spoke before humanity, before Earth. He looks as thrilled to see Amenadiel as if they've never fought a day in their lives. As if he's never known a time when they weren't best friends.

After a pause, as Lucifer grins flirtatiously up at Chloe, totally enchanted by her, she swallows a lump in her throat and looks at Amenadiel. "He doesn't remember, does he?"

"He's. . . I don't think he does. Right now, he's where he was when he first got his wings. Happy. Home. Young." Amenadiel hesitates. "Before."

Chloe's heart clenches like a fist. For half a second, she wants to keep him this way, away from all that pain and torment and mistrust. Away from the legacy of the centuries of damage and torture and anger. Yet even as she looks down at him, his utterly innocent and radiant expression, she knows that this is not her Lucifer. She almost can't breathe at the thought of watching him fall again, of trusting that the fact of meeting her is enough to make it worth it. It sure doesn't seem that way. She's not that special.

"Can we. . . control it?" she asks at last. "How he remembers?"

"I don't know. I have no idea about any of this." Amenadiel rubs a hand over his chin. "This has never happened in the history of the world."

He and Maze manage to hoist Lucifer up, carrying him to his bed. He doesn't recognize Maze either, since she's a demon; he never knew her in Heaven. It's as they're all standing in anxious vigil that Trixie turns up, fresh as a lark, and squeals with delight. "Lucifer!"

She starts to run to him, but Chloe catches her arm. "No, monkey. He's hurt, okay? He. . . he had a night."

Trixie frowns, staring at him. "He looks different."

"He had a really bad night."

"He's going to be all right, isn't he?"

Chloe bites her lip and smiles. "Yeah. Of course he is."

It strikes her in an odd and poignant way that today is Sunday as she shoos Trixie into the kitchen and goes to make breakfast. She has a vain hope that the smell of toast and eggs will somehow jolt Lucifer back, but it doesn't. They eat while he stares at the ceiling, as yet delighted by the world, glancing over at Chloe a few times with that same entranced expression. As if he might think he's in Heaven, but she's still the brightest star he sees.

Chloe looks at Amenadiel. "What happened last night?"

"We. . ." He seems rather sheepish. "About what you'd expect from a full-on, knock-down, drag-out immortal fight between the Angel of Death, the Lord of Hell, and me."

Chloe shoots a shifty look at Trixie, who is listening intently. "Trix, how about you go get dressed?"

"Nuh-uh. I wanna stay."

"This is adult stuff, I don't know if you should be listening in."

"Is it about how Lucifer's the Devil?" Trixie says archly. "Because I know that. _Duh."_

Chloe discovers her mouth is open, and shuts it. "Well. . . okay, maybe, sort of, but it's – "

"And he was fighting Azrael?" Trixie goes on. "Because he thinks my little sister's gonna be a Neph. . . a Nephe. . . Nephy?"

Chloe shoots a horrified look at Maze, who shrugs. "What? What was I supposed to tell her they were doing, auditioning for Hamlet? Besides, did you really think I didn't know?"

Amenadiel and Chloe facepalm almost in unison. "Trixie, honey, this. . . well, I'm glad you know – " Chloe shoots a look at Maze as if to remark that they will have to take up the subject of appropriate information for children later – "but really – "

"I'm staying," Trixie says stubbornly.

Chloe casts her eyes at the ceiling. "Fine," she says through gritted teeth. "In terms suitable for an eight-year-old to overhear, and then what happened?"

"I don't know that he's given up, precisely," Amenadiel cautions. "But we made it more than clear that he's going to have the literal hell of a fight on his hands if he keeps trying."

"Which translates into, what, him trying again another few years from now?"

"As I said. I don't know. Mortal years aren't the same to us, and he doesn't understand the world the way Lucifer and I do. Could be he'll try again shortly, for him, but it'll be a hundred years for you humans. I _can_ say nobody's kicked his ass like that in a few eons. Death isn't really used to being the one getting the whupping." Amenadiel's face lights with a proud grin.

"Just tell me you didn't leave a hail of destruction across Los Angeles County," Chloe sighs.

"There was a thunderstorm last night." Amenadiel looks shifty. "It'll get chalked up to that."

"And I'm guessing that had something to do with the three of you going gangbusters?"

"Well, I did say it was what you'd expect from that level of immortal fight, so. . ." Amenadiel clearly can't bring himself to entirely regret it, "good brother" or not. Chloe looks at him narrowly, decides that a reprimand for this is probably not in her jurisdiction, and sighs. She's about to say something else, when all of them are distracted by Lucifer starting to scream.

They jump to their feet, Trixie clapping her hands over her ears, as Chloe says frantically, "Monkey, please go, okay? Please go."

Trixie looks at her, looks at Lucifer, decides she might not want to see this after all, and scampers. Lucifer starts to thrash, cords standing out in his neck, eyes burning black, clawing at the covers, as Chloe, Maze, and Amenadiel run to him. He keeps howling, as Chloe clamps hold of him to make absolutely sure he stays mortal; Lucifer with his full strength in this situation would be a nightmare. Even so, it's like wrestling an anaconda as he twists and kicks and struggles, head ramming into her chest hard enough to wind her. She awkwardly tries to keep her stomach away from his thrashing, as Amenadiel seizes his arms and Maze once more hops on his legs. She doesn't need to ask what's going on, knows instinctively that he's reliving it. The betrayal, the confrontation, the moment of reckoning. The fall.

She doesn't know what's worse, his screaming, or when he stops. He sinks against her, unseeing, face dripping in sweat. He doubles up as if about to retch a few times, gagging, trying to spit something out, but doesn't. Heaves for breath, sinking against her, as she holds him up to stop him from leaning too hard on her belly. "Hey," she whispers. "Hey. It's almost over, okay? It's almost over. I'm here. It's okay."

It takes another nerve-wracking ten minutes, but at last she feels the change under her hands, feels something tense and shift, a spark. A rising, someone standing, against all odds, one more time. Then he opens his weary eyes, looks up at her, and whispers, "Detective?"

It's the most wonderful thing she's ever heard. She grabs his face in both hands, leans down, and kisses the possibly literal bejesus out of him. Lucifer moans appreciatively into her mouth, but is too weak to do much more than that, until she pulls away. "Well," he husks. "I feel dreadful."

"You idiot, you scared me _so much."_ Chloe thinks about punching him, but that doesn't seem very fair. "Do you even know what you put us through?" He gives her a wry look, and she amends, "Okay, what we had to put _you_ through?"

"I'm sure. . . it's. . . quite a tale." He stops and frowns, sensing something different, rubbing at his back. "What the – did you – what? No. No, I don't – "

"Luci." Amenadiel reaches for him. "Luci, you've had an eventful twelve hours, calm down and take it slow."

"But I burned them!" Lucifer looks at him in horror. "I bloody well burned them!"

"A human cigarette butt can't destroy those for good, brother. You know that."

"How can you _possibly_ have – "

"I found them," Chloe says, her voice sounding small and scared to her own ears. "On the beach. They made me leave after Amenadiel brought you in. You were badly hurt, I couldn't be near you. I went and I found them there. I can't explain what happened."

"And you just, what, stuck them back on with some Elmer's craft glue and sparkle stickers?"

"It was more complicated than that."

"Ah. Yes, I see." Lucifer nods, lips white. "And I was hardly awake to protest this, so, well, here they are."

"You would have died if she didn't." Amenadiel looks at his wayward brother steadily. "Maze and I were losing you. It was a – "

"If you say miracle, gift from Dad, any of that, I am going to punch you."

"Miracle." Amenadiel's expression dares Lucifer to do it in his weakened condition. "As in, maybe he doesn't hate you as much as you think. Wants you to have this chance to live. To do better. To be a father. Remember what I said about this being some kind of strange full-circle thing I couldn't explain, but it was powerful? I think that was it."

Lucifer is speechless, until he finally laughs bitterly. "Dying once on his account wasn't enough?"

"It's not about Mum this time, Luci. Or Dad. It's not favors traded for favors paid. It's not about any of that. It was a gift, all right? He's not asking anything in return. There was no bargain involved. It was about you." Amenadiel's gaze remains calm. "Take it or leave it. It's the truth."

Lucifer opens and shuts his mouth, confused and uncertain. "Well, unless I want to hack the bloody things off once more, I appear to be stuck with them, don't I?"

"You'll get used to them again." Amenadiel smiles wistfully. "Remember when we were kids? Used to race around heaven, fast as we could. Total terrors. Loved those things. Loved to fly."

Lucifer smiles back, softly, sadly. "I always beat you, you know."

"No, you didn't."

"Yes, I did, you loafing pillock."

They catch each other's eye, cough, and look down. "Very well, then," Lucifer says briskly, recovering himself. "I'm still not going back to hell, though."

"I don't think he would have sent them if he wanted you to." Amenadiel pauses, then shrugs. "The world changes, you know. I think he's finally having to change with it."

Once again, that catches Lucifer off guard. Then he makes a plaintive face, decides he'll hash through the whys and wherefores later, _much_ later, and says, "Can I at least have a bloody drink?"

Maze grins, gets up, and pours him a stiff whisky, which he tosses back at a pull, still shaking his head. Some color has started to return to his cheeks by the time he comes up for air, thrusting the glass back at her. "Make it a double."

"Don't think you should be drinking in your feeble state, you know," Maze says archly. "Chloe's here, you don't have immortal tolerance for alcohol."

"Good. I intend to be as stinkingly and ridiculously drunk as I can possibly get."

Maze considers him for a moment. Then without further ado, she walks out to the balcony and drops the whisky bottle over the edge.

Lucifer stares at the scene of the crime, sputtering. "Bloody hell! Do you know how much that stuff cost? You might bloody kill someone! Me, you might kill me, and in my invalid state!"

"We'll take our chances," Maze says. "I think you get to ride this one out sober."

"You really are Hell's most evil bloody torturer, Mazikeen."

"Oh, you know it."

They manage to get Lucifer back to bed, despite his protests that he's fine, whereupon he conks out and sleeps like the actual dead – it is two days later by the time he stirs again. Chloe, Maze, and Amenadiel have done their best to clean up the aftermath of the fight and find if Azrael is still hanging around or if any more demons are going to shoot out of the glass rack, but for now, they seem to be all right. They've given Lucifer a prod every now and then to make sure he's breathing, and are alerted to his resurrection by a groan. He stares up at the ceiling, then turns to them, watching him like the Greek chorus. "If you're going to lurk, you might as well come over here and do it properly."

They move tentatively closer. "How are you feeling?" Chloe asks, brushing a hand over his forehead.

Lucifer considers. "Shit. Total shit. Slightly less shit than the last time I was awake, which I'm not sure when that was, exactly, but still decidedly on the shit end of things."

He sits up with another groan, putting his feet gingerly on the floor, as Chloe and Amenadiel haul him onto them. He's rather woozy, but manages to make it to the bathroom and take a very long shower, then teeter out in search of some food. Trixie's at school, since it's a weekday, and Lucifer scarfs down three plates of breakfast (well, late breakfast). He reaches for a cigarette by habit, looks at Chloe, and pulls his hand back. "Should, you know, think about quitting."

She grins softly. "It is healthier. If you're living around me, you're going to spend a lot of time mortal, and you don't want to accidentally get lung cancer. Or worse, a smoker's hack. Not very attractive, you know."

"Yes, well, actually. . ." Lucifer hesitates. "I was thinking about the. . . the baby."

Chloe is taken aback and touched. It's the first time he hasn't referred to it as _the spawn,_ and his expression is quite sincere. "It might not affect me all that much, but it certainly would her."

"I. . . yes." Chloe suddenly has trouble swallowing. "Yes, it would."

Lucifer looks at her intently, as Maze and Amenadiel try to pretend they aren't there, which is a difficult feat for Hell's top torturer and a six-foot-two angel built like a brick shithouse. "So. . . you're going to do this?" Chloe asks after a moment. "With me? With us?"

"If I say no, does Azrael come down and smite me? Joking! Only joking, darling! But I. . . yes. Yes, I. . ." Lucifer hesitates. "Yes, I think I am."

Chloe gets up, goes over to him, and without another word, he takes her in his arms. (Maze and Amenadiel cough and look away.) Then after a long moment, Lucifer lets go, glances around, and his eye lights on the piano. He pauses, then sits down, rolls up his sleeves, and slowly at first, out of practice, starts to play.

Chloe looks at him with her eyes brimming, until a sharp interior jolt makes her gasp and press a hand to her stomach. Lucifer looks up in confusion, and almost stops.

"No, it's fine, keep going. It's just. . ." Chloe looks at him, and grins. "I think she likes it too."

* * *

The next few weeks and months are, at last, much, much better. They start discussing logistics, such as whose last name the baby will take. As Chloe points out, she'll have enough trouble writing "Lucifer Morningstar – father" for her emergency contact or filling out forms, and maybe they should just call her Decker. "They'll think you're, I don't know, a weird niche porn star."

"I don't care what they think, as long as they _inform_ me if something's wrong. Otherwise I will throttle them." Lucifer pauses. "I don't mind if she's a Decker, I love women named Decker. But if she's already going to have this problem, they might as well know that we do share a name, eh? I know _Morningstar_ is a bit much to lump on a child, but." He shrugs, almost shyly. "Surely it can't be any worse than actually living with me, can it? And if any schoolyard bully feels their oats, well, Maze always needs new test subjects."

"You can't send elementary school kids to your gold-star BDSM hellish dominatrix, Lucifer. I don't care how snotty they are."

"Oh I can't, can I?" He has a rather dangerous glint in his eye, and Chloe decides not to test her luck. It's nice to know that this daughter (and, for that matter, Trixie) will not have to worry about bullies, once Lucifer pulls his Skull Stare of Doom on them. Which he will, clearly.

They have a few ideas for names, but nothing seems to quite fit just yet, and they put it off for later. They decorate the nursery at the house (Lucifer actually helps, although he still complains that infants need far too much stuff, at which Chloe can't disagree). It occurs to them that they can't really switch a newborn off between here and Lux, and, Lux isn't exactly, as Amenadiel pointed out, child-friendly. Lucifer still plans to work there, of course, but he considers that it might be time to think about moving in with her.

By now, Chloe is almost eight months along, and feels like a cow on two legs. Lucifer is usually good at rubbing her feet or fetching her some sort of delicacy or otherwise, you know, finally doing the stuff an expectant father should be doing. They've had all the scans and checkups, everything seems to be fine, healthy as can be, should be coming in less than a month. It's all ready, except for the fact that they still don't have a name. (Maze suggests that they just name her "Mazikeen Junior," which is firmly vetoed.) Chloe is getting to the point where she's winded if she walks around for too long, and finally grouses, "You're persuasive, aren't you? Can't you persuade her that she wants to be born now? I'm over it."

"Alas, darling, I cannot."

Chloe makes a grumpy face at him, and he laughs. "You are quite adorable, though."

"Fat. The word you're looking for is fat."

"I am not an amateur, so no, I will not call a woman fat even if she's trying to trick me into it. The fact is that you are, all right, plump, but still adorable."

She scoffs, but can't help grinning.

Finally, she wakes up in the middle of the night with an intense urge to pee, waddles to the bathroom, quickly realizes it's more than that, and hurries (well, _hurries_ is a relative term) back to the bedroom to rouse Lucifer. He's groggy and confused, then bolts upright, panicking (you'd think he was the one who's going to have to do this) then grabbing for the bag, then calling Amenadiel and Maze to come over and babysit Trixie, and dithering in circles until she orders him to get hold of himself. The baby is not coming instantly, they have time, but yes, they should get to the hospital, and no, he is not allowed to bamboozle or trick any medical personnel into anything. They know what they are doing, and he is going to shut up and deal with it.

They get into her squad car, Lucifer turns on the siren and burns through the streets despite her insistence that this is not legal, pull in, park, and head to the maternity ward, where Chloe gets checked in and settles down for the wait. She's nervous too, but not particularly. To hell with the "natural childbirth is a great experience!" thing; she has asked for all the drugs, and she's not too badly in pain just yet. But Lucifer, of course, has to be kicked out after angrily demanding that the nurses do more every time she so much as grimaces. Chloe informs him that they will come get him when it's showtime, and to not accidentally burn down the hospital with his pacing.

The contractions stay shallow and light for a while, then quickly start to intensify, and they make the decision soon after that to transfer her to delivery. Lucifer hasn't been sure if he wants to be there for this, but as they're wheeling her by, he makes up his mind, braces himself, and asks to be scrubbed up. He grips her hand as she starts to pant and curse. Right. Maternal amnesia. Should have remembered this with Trixie. But as soon as she held the little monkey, she forgot.

She digs in her heels, bracing herself, holding onto him tightly enough that she'd probably break his fingers if he wasn't immortal, but he doesn't seem to notice. The nurses are telling her to push, and she's pushing, _fuck_ it, she's pushing, and it hurts like hell despite the drugs and it's lights and it's flashing and she wonders briefly if it was like this when Lucifer was falling, far away from everything, nothing but fragments, edges, _pain_. And then there's a sharp, head-piercing sound that is only recognizable as that as a very, very unhappy newborn, thrust unceremoniously into this strange, cold, bright, obnoxious, brave new world.

Chloe sags back, heaving, wrenching, gasping, as the delivery room breaks out in cheers. The nurses take her off, Chloe deals with the afterbirth, and they manage to get her cleaned up and resting comfortably by the time the baby is brought back and put into her arms. She looks like every other newborn. Red-faced, squinched, no longer screaming but still grumpy, a lick of fine dark hair on her skull, as Chloe feels her heart melt. She cuddles her for a long moment, then looks up at Lucifer, who doesn't appear to be breathing. "Do you want to see her?"

Lucifer hesitates for a final moment, then leans forward. "Hello," he says, very softly. "Hello, spawn."

He offers her a finger, and her tiny ones clutch onto it like a starfish, which causes him to look shocked. "Oh bloody hell, she's definitely got immortal strength. We're doomed."

"Babies are stronger than you think, Lucifer." Chloe giggles weakly. "And if we're not naming her Mazikeen Junior – which I still don't vote for, by the way – then what are we?"

Lucifer considers her. Then he says, suddenly and with great finality, "Eve."

"Eve?" Chloe remembers that story he told her at dinner, about how this was the final thing that snapped his relationship with his father. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. I. . . I did like her, quite a bit, and she liked me. It didn't happen the way they wrote it down. We were friends. And I was the one who told her to eat the apple, to know, to understand, to open her eyes, but I bloody well didn't trick her into doing it. She chose. She always chose. And she was the one who took the consequences, along with that useless husband of hers. Even worse than Detective Douche, Adam." Lucifer huffs. "Still don't know what she saw in that sod. Suppose she didn't have any other choice, though what do you expect for a man literally made out of dirt? And she and I got blamed for it, all because I _did_ give a woman her choice. Left quite a bad mark down the centuries. As they like to say, Eve was most certainly framed, but not by me. Yet here we are, and. . . perhaps both of us get to try again. If you don't like it, we can – "

He's cut off as Chloe leans over to kiss him. "Eve," she says. "Eve what?"

Lucifer considers. "Sophia. She was the. . . the divine feminine, the creator, Wisdom. The Holy Spirit, if you will. I knew her too, once upon a time. Always making things, tending things. The gardener. Wherever she went, things grew."

"Eve Sophia Morningstar." Chloe looks at her, and smiles, until she can feel her heart almost bursting. She doesn't know if she's a Nephilim, if she's going to develop part-angelic powers just in time to make her toddlerhood even more terrifying, or if she's completely normal, and she doesn't care. "Yes," she says only. "Yes."

They stay in the hospital for the standard twenty-four hours, but as there are no complications and Chloe is bouncing back fairly well, there's no reason to keep them longer. They're discharged the next morning (Lucifer having called Maze and Amenadiel to let them know) and as they get into the car, Chloe notices with amusement that Lucifer is driving at the standard two miles an hour common to all new fathers. But they don't head back toward the house, to her confusion. They detour into downtown, but not to Lux either.

"Lucifer, where are we going?" She's still sore and gimpy and bloated, and just wants to get home, crash in bed, and be waited on hand and foot.

"It's not far, darling, I promise."

A few minutes later, they pull into what she recognizes, to her surprise, as a church, and not just any church. They've been here before, and they park, Lucifer gets the door for her, and lifts out Eve's baby carrier. She's fast asleep as he leads them around the side, through the gate, and into the well-kept, treed graveyard beyond, a quiet green oasis in the hum and bustle of the city.

Chloe understands an instant before they stop before the stone and look down. The flowers here are fresh. White orchids, Lucifer's favorite. It's well-kept and tidy. FATHER FRANK LAWRENCE, 1965-2016.

"Oh." She puts her hands to her mouth, tears bubbling up, as Lucifer carefully puts Eve down on the grass and crouches next to her. "You. . . you wanted him to meet her."

Lucifer doesn't look up, but he nods. Then at last he speaks, very quietly. "Before he died, he asked. . . . he asked if I was sure that I knew that His. . . that Dad's. . . plan for me was finished. I just. . . I thought he should know that he was right."

Chloe doesn't say anything – she can't – but she puts a hand on his shoulder as he remains kneeling. After a moment he breathes hard, gets up, manages a grin, and says with a crooked smile, "I'm still a better bloody piano player than you, Padre Punchy." Then he bends down, picks up Eve, takes Chloe's arm, and ushers his family back to the car.

They get home, and introduce Trixie to her sister, Amenadiel to his niece, and Maze to her. . . well. . . "goddaughter" seems entirely the wrong term, but something in that gist, yes. Even Dan drops by later that day to bring a card and a casserole, and they start to settle in, slowly. Lucifer has had his piano brought over from the penthouse, and it's a few weeks later that Chloe wakes up in the middle of the night, in the fog of sleep deprivation common to new parents, with Eve wailing down the hall. But Lucifer rolls out instead and heads to get her, and she's about to go gratefully back to sleep, even if she's fairly sure she just witnessed a miracle, when she hears music drifting up from downstairs.

Curious, she climbs out of bed, goes to the landing, and peers into the living room. Lucifer's sitting at the piano with Eve curled against him in a sling, playing. She can't figure out what it is, as it sounds like it's supposed to be jazzy and up-tempo, but he's doing it in a minor key instead, meditatively, sweet and slow. But Eve's quiet, no longer fussing, and it's then, as Lucifer hits a familiar chord, that Chloe realizes what it is, and can't say anything, can just be. Because, well. To see it, to see him, Lucifer Morningstar, sitting there with his daughter sleeping against him in the soft dark hours, not knowing she's watching, playing _I'm A Believer_ by the Monkees –

There really isn't anything else to say.


	2. II

**II.**

Lucifer Morningstar has seen this harrowing sight before.

Most often, in fact, among the demon corbies of the deepest circles of Hell, the giant black crows that peck the flesh of miscreants from their bones, over and over (that Prometheus chap also had an unpleasant experience, once upon a time). Strip and tear and devour, a fitting punishment for gluttons or corporate chief executives or any other sorts that spent their lives cannibalizing and eating up others. Merciless, those corbies. Always get the job done. No poor fool will ever escape their teeth and beaks. Rend him into bloody bits. Then into smaller, bloodier bits.

This, and he is not being melodramatic at _all,_ is exactly like that. In fact, actually. Worse.

"Ladies, please." He twists this way and that, but cannot entirely escape their foul net. "You are all delightful, believe me, but you are slightly mistaken. I am _not_ here for whatever Desperate Housewives-cum-playdate circle jerk you appear to be setting up. Surprising me as much as you, I assure you, but I'm not a free agent anymore. Please. _Please."_

The ten or twelve women – and oh bloody hell, there are at least half a dozen more on the way – pay him absolutely no attention. His peerless sexual charisma and dashingly handsome good looks are presently biting him directly in the Armani-clad arse, which is the literal hell of an irony for you. But all he was really intending to do was to dutifully take Trixie and Eve to the park as ordered, while Chloe ran back to the station to double-check something. Yet on the mere occasion of him sitting down on a bench with a baby carrier, every single red-blooded female in Los Angeles appears to have descended upon him in a positively Old Testament swarm. Ordinarily he would be delighting in such attention, but, well, there is a first time for everything, and he pathetically swipes at them, trying to dislodge one such admirer from her spot. "Really, ladies. Do think of the children. I'm supposed to be setting a _good_ example this days."

This has no effect. Lucifer looks frantically at Trixie, who's playing on the slide – the fact of the Devil reduced to vainly hoping for salvation from a toddler (she's eight, that's a toddler, right?) just speaks to how far he has fallen, in an entirely different sense of the word. Eve stirs and makes a cross squawking sound that normally presages something disagreeable happening and him desperately rushing her to Chloe to deal with it, and he joggles her with a terrified grin. "Go to sleep, spawn. Yes, go to sleep. Daddy will buy you a scaly demon with horns, or however that little rhyme goes."

One or two of the women look taken aback at him calling a baby that, but the rest pay no attention. They're cooing at him about how it's so admirable that he's a single father, it's so hard, they'd love to help out. This gives him a prick of indignant disbelief that he would get praised for it, when single _mothers_ get all the judgy side-eye the world has to offer, and even he is not soegoistical as to not be fully aware that if he ever was left on his own for twenty-four hours, the house would be a total disaster zone. He's trying, he really is, but it's so bloody bewildering, and besides –

"Lucifer!"

He looks up, then sags in abject relief at the sight of Chloe striding toward him, eyebrow cocked about as high it will go at all his adoring female company. She gives them a pointed look as they get it, turn absolutely crestfallen, and start to disperse with mumbles and grumbles, some taking longer to clear out than others and one practically in tears. Finally, that leaves Chloe crossing her arms and giving him a Look that Lucifer is well aware has never gone enjoyably for any man on the receiving end of it. "What was that about, exactly?"

"Detective, I swear it's not my fault. For once. I sat down and they materialized like Dad sending a plague of locusts on the Egyptians. They might have been locusts, actually, I'm not sure. Very hungry, if you know what I mean." Lucifer flaps a hand. "Really, I haven't a clue."

"Right." Chloe still looks leery, but she can't help but bite her cheek. "I see. You sat down on a bench looking gorgeous and holding a baby, and the Batsignal went out."

Lucifer brightens. "You called me gorgeous."

Chloe rolls her eyes, accepting Eve, who is making more disgruntled noises, as Lucifer hastily hands her up. "I thought you loved fawning female attention. You might accidentally shrivel up and disappear in a puff of brimstone if you didn't get enough of it, you know."

"Yes, well. . ." He coughs. "I _am_ aware that things have changed. It's not quite as enjoyable anymore, I'm not sure why. Do you have any notion?"

Chloe's expression is now mostly amused. "Sure. You're becoming ever so slightly responsible."

Lucifer shudders. "No. That can't possibly be the answer."

"Uh-huh." Chloe boosts up Eve and waves at Trixie, who comes running over to join them. "All right, come on, you two. Let's make our escape before the Red Sea closes in again."

Lucifer opens his mouth, and she shoots a look reminding him that his commentary on how this event may or may not have actually happened, and his feelings on his father's tactics because of it (it can be very annoying to be in a relationship with a guy whose memory is literally as old as time, and whose sarcasm can't be far behind) is not at all necessary, and marches them to the car. One of Lucifer's fangirls clears out as they arrive, still looking sulky. This is not the first time this has happened. It will assuredly not be the last.

* * *

Thus far, it has been. . . well, not that bad, actually. Especially compared to the total calamity that Chloe was expecting coming in.

Eve is eight months old, and if nothing else, it's clear that Lucifer is totally smitten with her. Sure, he still calls her "my little hellspawn," but in a doting way, and the expression on his face when he looks at her would definitely make the Grinch's heart grow three sizes. He loves to show her off, to play piano to her (Eve clearly likes this too) and otherwise investigate new potential heights of blood pressure when there's the slightest hint of a threat to her (which is usually just some poor schmuck looking for a moment too long). So far, so good.

The fact remains, however, that countless millennia of raging against one's father, of nursing a bitter and burning grudge while running the final destination for the worst of humanity (including, to hear Lucifer tell it, all sorts of terrible parents), dealing with his mother, his topsy-turvy relationship with Amenadiel, and, oh, being the Devil aren't things that go away overnight. Lucifer is trying, he really is, certainly more than he has at anything during the time he's lived in Los Angeles, but he still likes it best when it's easy. If Eve is screaming, or fussy, or needs to be fed or changed or anything more complicated than sticking a bottle or a pacifier into her mouth to shut her up, he hands her over to Chloe like a hot potato. It's not that he's a deadbeat dad, it's just that he doesn't know how to deal with it. He has acquired the minimum of necessary skills, so Chloe doesn't have to do everything all the time, but for a guy whose signature trait is his (usually) literally bulletproof overconfidence, he's still awfully uncertain about it. He knows that he doesn't know, and that freaks him out, and that makes it harder for him to focus long enough to really get it down and feel comfortable with it. He has the attention span of a five-year-old on Adderall in a toy store with flashing lights. Studying for the exam isn't exactly what he does.

Still, though. Considering that she was expecting him to be on the other side of the country by now, or actually swimming the Atlantic (why is it, she wonders, that the Devil manifested as a handsome and charming British man? Has Lucifer even actually been to England? Is it the same reason that every historical drama, no matter when or where it's set, has everyone speaking in British accents? Is it some American predilection toward seeing Brits as classy and/or sexy and/or possibly nefarious? Is she overthinking this?) it's, you know. Not bad. Trixie is still besotted with the fact of having a little sister (even if her idea of it is mostly that she can give Eve all her old toys and then they'll have to buy her new ones). Which is interesting in regards to the fact that it's now November, and the holiday season is fast approaching. It wasn't much last year, what with everything, and besides, Chloe is pretty sure that the Devil does not _do_ Christmas. Lucifer has said before that it's like celebrating the birthday of a sibling whom your parents like better, another of the strange dysfunctional-family shitshows that all the established Judeo-Christian holidays turn into when you are literally dating the villain of them. This is – to say the least – going to be _interesting_.

The other notable thing, which they haven't really discussed, is the fact that Lucifer has his wings back. Obviously, Chloe had something to do with this, and seeing as the other option was him dying, she's quite at peace with her decision. But she hasn't been able to repress the niggling curiosity of wanting to see him with them. She did, briefly, when she was putting them back, but that's not the same, and she can't get it to go away. She knows it's the side effect both he and Amenadiel have warned about, when a human gets a glimpse of something divine and can't shake it. She lives with Lucifer every day, and she's immune to him in most other ways, but sometimes when they're together, she thinks she can feel them under her fingers, something velvet-soft and strong as iron, not quite on this plane, but no longer gone. Yet there are costs to an angel assuming their form. It changes them. Not something you do just so your girlfriend can get a picture, and Lucifer is likewise not in any hurry for it. He knows she had no choice to save his life. Doesn't mean he's forgotten why he had them cut off.

In the meantime, however, there is the dread specter of Thanksgiving, which is unpleasant enough even when half your family isn't immortal beings from a higher (and hotter) plane of existence. It's awkward to invite Dan, but they also can't _not_ invite him, as well as Penelope, even aware that this will probably go horribly wrong sometime before the pumpkin pie is served. Dan, for his part, immediately vanishes out back to toss the Nerf football around with Trixie, while Penelope dotes on Eve (who _is_ a beautiful baby – well, all parents think so, but she is). Chloe and Lucifer are cooking, while Maze ridicules the Macy's parade and Amenadiel keeps trying to get her to switch over to the football game, which Maze is archly dismissive of. "What's the point of watching them slowly destroy their own brains? It's not even artful. It's like watching a bull run into a wall over and over."

"I thought you liked seeing humans torment themselves in stupid ways for no apparent reason," Amenadiel grunts, struggling for the remote, which Maze is dangling just out of his reach. "Anyway, it's more interesting than you complaining about their balloons."

"I like complaining about the balloons." Maze squirms around and manages to get him between her legs. "And I also know what's more interesting."

"Um, you two," Chloe says loudly. "Family setting."

Amenadiel gives her a wounded _I-had-nothing-to-do-with-this_ look. Maze raises an eyebrow. "So?"

"So no traumatizing all of us on Thanksgiving." Chloe stirs the stuffing. She's not the world's greatest cook, but she does want this to go better than Morningstar-Decker-Espinoza family dinners have had a habit of going in the past. "Especially my kids."

Maze scoffs. "They live with Lucifer every day, how much more traumatized can they be?"

"Ouch," Lucifer says. "I think that faint burning sensation I just felt was you plunging that turkey carving knife into my back, Mazikeen."

"Also more interesting than football. But still not as interesting as. . ." Maze gives Amenadiel another sultry look, clearly delighting in seeing how many chains she can possibly yank at once. "Come over here and beat me, big guy, and you can change the channel. If you want to."

Chloe clears her throat. "Start anything on that couch, and neither of you get any food."

"Exactly," Lucifer pitches in helpfully. "We have executive nookie privilege, as masters of the house." With that, he reaches over, puts a hand on Chloe's ass, and nuzzles her with a big grin.

Maze makes an indignant noise, and Chloe smacks Lucifer's hand off. "You are such a child. I swear."

"What? I'm giving thanks! Isn't what this whole thing is about? And I am _very_ grateful for your rear end, and your marvelous bazongas, and your mouth, and other bits of you, such as – "

Just as Chloe is about to smack him again, and/or ask who actually, seriously uses the word "bazongas," they both look up and see Dan and Trixie standing by the back door, having just come in from outside, and Lucifer screeches to a halt. "Your. . . um. . . fingers."

Dan silently facepalms.

"What about Mommy's fingers?" Trust Trixie to not let the awkward moment go without an even more awkward question.

"They're very, uh. . ." Lucifer visibly flails. "Very dexterous."

"What does that mean?"

"Very talented. I don't suppose you knew that your mother was so – OW! Detective, that hurt!"

"Speaking of carving knives in your back." Chloe gives him a searing look. "I have a kitchen full of sharp implements and you are mortal right now, buddy."

"Oh? I didn't know you were into BDSM, Detective. Though given your proclivity for cuffing me, I can't say I'm surprised – is that what you want for Christmas, a – "

Penelope and Dan are both staring at them by this point, Amenadiel and Maze have totally forgotten about their remote scuffle, and Chloe feels her cheeks turning the color of the cranberry sauce. "Wow. So not only can I not take you anywhere, I can't take anywhere to you."

"This is what she puts up with every day, and thinks it's an improvement," Dan mutters, just quietly enough to be clearly heard. "Really."

"I'm sorry, Sir Douche?" Lucifer shouts. "Had something to chat about, did you?"

Chloe gives them one more you-ruin-dinner-at-your-peril look, twirls the carving knife threateningly, and manages to keep them in line, or at least quiet, until it's time to serve up. This does get everyone to focus on the food, though small talk is rather strained. Chloe finds herself stuck exchanging baby stories with her mom, as that at least keeps them off inventive torture techniques when they're trying to eat (Maze) passive-aggressive commentary on her choice of boyfriend (Dan) or the walking black-and-white Parental Advisory label (Lucifer). Amenadiel gamely helps her out, and they're on the verge of having to talk about the weather (it's California, there isn't much weather to talk about except for the fact that they need rain) to get through it. But nobody stabs anyone else, the food might not win Master Chef but is still pretty good, and they get to coffee and dessert while being (mostly) civil. Then Dan puts down his napkin, thanks them, and hauls ass out of there.

"You do remember what you said at the park a few weeks ago, don't you?" Chloe says later, when everything is washed up, the kids are down, and she and Lucifer are upstairs in their room (she thought about making him sleep on the couch, but if she banished him every time he said something outrageous, he wouldn't sleep in their bed at all, and as ludicrous as he is, she never likes it when he's too far from her side). "About setting a good example?"

"What?" Lucifer looks genuinely confused. "Didn't I do just that? Hosted a lovely family dinner, cooked and cleaned up, didn't knee Dan in the dangly bits – I thought it was a rousing success, actually."

"I realize it's something you wouldn't have been caught dead doing a few years ago, but. . ." Chloe is aware that trying to get Lucifer to develop a brain-to-mouth filter is simply never going to happen, that he's like a cat with a laser pointer – just can't stop himself from trying to catch it, even if it's a totally fruitless errand. "You can't torment Dan forever, you know."

"Can, absolutely can, and will. Devil's prerogative, darling. Especially if he torments me forever first."

Chloe sighs. Of course he's going to be five years old about this. "Like it or not, you two are Trixie's dad and de facto stepdad. She likes you both right now, but what about when she gets older? I've talked to Dan about this too, believe me. It's not like I'm unfairly picking on you. Dan is the father of my daughter, he will always be in my life in some way, and now with Eve, you'll be too. There's no escaping that. What about if it was Trixie's wedding? Do you think she'd still find it funny that you and Dan couldn't put aside your male egos long enough to be there for her instead? Do you?"

Lucifer opens and shuts his mouth, looking – for once – uncertain. "Detective," he says. "Chloe. I – I don't mean any harm by it. I just, well." He stops. "I don't know."

"I know," Chloe says gently. "And I know you think it's funny, because making things funny is how you avoid having to deal with them. But being able to out-quip Dan isn't what is going to make you a success at this. Blended families are hard, but is Dan any worse for you to deal with than me having Maze practically asking everyone else to be a voyeur? And I even _like_ Maze. But this isn't hell, where you're in charge and you can do whatever you want and you don't care who you piss off. It's Earth. You chose to stay here. Maybe you get what that means."

Lucifer absorbs this pensively. It's always hard to tell if she's getting through to him – he can hear all the good advice in the world, and then go straight in the wrong direction with it. Finally he says, "So, no ragging on Dan, that's what you're getting at?"

"Yes."

"What if Dan really deserves it?"

"Self control." Chloe raises an eyebrow at him. "Give it a try."

"Sounds dreadful." Lucifer sighs. "Very well, Detective, I see your point. Because I, Lucifer Morningstar, do nothing if not think of the children, I will not rag on Dan. Aloud."

Chloe raises the other eyebrow. Sensing that's about all she's going to get, she says. "Fine."

Lucifer pauses, then brightens. "Can I still make faces, though?"

* * *

And just when they've gotten that out of the way, it's time to deal with Christmas.

Chloe isn't huge on the whole tradition thing, not least because she has a lot of childhood memories involving her mom popping up around Christmas and trying to play the happy family angle for all it was worth (she still has no idea how her parents, an L.A. beat cop and an aspiring B-movie actress, got together, but there you have it – Eve is probably going to wonder how _her_ parents, also an L.A. beat cop and the literal Devil, got together too). But there's something about having two young daughters that makes you want to be a bit corny and nostalgic, try to enjoy it, do something fun. And whether or not Lucifer cooperates, Chloe intends to do so.

They get through the tree-trimming more or less without incident, even if Lucifer's ideas of proper ornaments are. . . questionable, at best. The trouble starts, however, when Trixie begs and pleads to go see Santa Claus at the mall, and Lucifer is absolutely mortified. "What? Go sit on some strange elderly fat man's lap and tell _him_ all your deepest desires? This sounds like the start to the sort of film that even I would not enjoy watching!"

Chloe glares at him. "Really? For your father's sake."

"Yes, I suppose this is all his fault, isn't it? With a nice side of horrid commercialism."

"Lucifer, you are literally the most material person I know."

"Well." He looks miffed. "This is still absurd. Not to mention that if the fat man tried to get down _that_ excuse for a chimney, he would get stuck, and die. Slowly."

Trixie looks aghast. "Mommy? Is Santa going to die?"

"No," Chloe says. "The Devil might, though."

"There you go again with the death threats, Detective. It's very unbecoming for a lady, not to mention the mother of my hellspawn." Lucifer scoops up Eve, who gives him a big grin with all two of her teeth. "Mummy's very cranky today, isn't she, darling? Don't worry, though. I've saved you from the fat man."

"Lucifer."

"Yes, Detective Decker?"

"Do you remember what I said about making Trixie happy and working as part of a team?"

"I. . ." Lucifer deflates, shoulders sagging. "Oh, bloody hell. It's the fat man for me, isn't it?"

"Damn straight." Chloe gives him a malicious little smile and tosses him the car keys, as they have had to purchase a more suitable vehicle than a cop car and a two-seater black convertible (not a minivan, as Lucifer would die on the spot, but a sedate four-door sedan). "Ho ho ho."

Which is how they find themselves in a loud, crowded mall humming with Christmas shoppers, waiting in a long line to see Santa, as Lucifer's eye is twitching and the looks of other mothers nearby are clearly making him jumpy about a potential repeat of the park incident. When they are finally almost to the front, he says loudly, "I should just have a quick go at the chap and see what he really wants to be doing. Surely it can't be sitting here having people handing him their snotty brats and pretending to care what to buy them? We've been subjected to this rubbish since bloody September, shouldn't they have all made their minds up by now? How long can this take, really? Poor bloke probably just wants to be home having a beer and a wank."

"Lucifer."Chloe seizes his arm as mall security eyes them curiously. _"Shut up."_

"It wouldn't take long! People think _I_ sit on a throne of lies, well, I've got nothing on him!" Lucifer waves at the rather perplexed mid-sixties white-bearded fellow who is charitably using his weekend to serve as the embodiment of the children of Los Angeles' holiday wishes and dreams. "Am I really just supposed to plop the spawn on this poltroon's lap without even vetting him first? Isn't that what fathers are supposed to do?"

The mothers who were ogling Lucifer earlier are now instead clearly wondering if whatever he has is contagious. Several of them tug their offspring closer.

"Sir." The mall security man has apparently decided it is time to take action. "Sir, if your children are here to see Santa, they can go ahead. You, however, need to remember that this is a family environment, and if you can't keep it down – "

"I'm so sorry," Chloe says. "We'll just take our picture and go. _Won't we, honey?"_

Pinioned by her glare up at him, as well as that of the entire line, Lucifer shrugs huffily, rolls his eyes, and permits himself to be marched up to the Chair of Holiday Doom, as Trixie squeals and runs to clamber onto Santa's lap. It takes Chloe a few tugs, but she loosens Eve from Lucifer's arms and hands her over to Santa as well. "I'm sorry," she says again, under her breath. "Please just ignore him."

Santa winks at her as he proceeds to patiently listen to Trixie's requests, as Eve is mostly interested in playing with the little bells on his suit. Seeing them distracted, Chloe lowers her voice and whispers, "For your information, they make sexy Santa costumes. As in, for adult playtime. If you don't absolutely ruin this, I'll buy one and we can. . . experiment."

"Oh?" Lucifer looks at her appraisingly, running his tongue around his lips. "I am intrigued. Horrified that anything associated with that hirsute oaf is considered arousing, yes, but intrigued."

"Well, buddy. Be intrigued, and we can find out later. If you behave."

"I'm behaving, aren't I?" Lucifer folds his hands like a choirboy. "Perfectly behaved."

"Uh-huh." Chloe looks back at Santa. "How about a picture? You have those accessories, don't you, the hats and whatnot?"

Indeed they do, and after she dons a pair of reindeer horns, she pulls out the fugliest, bell-spangled, felt monstrosity of holiday headgear she can possibly find, smirks up at the love of her life and father of her younger child, and wedges it firmly over his ears. "There. Just your style."

"It is not my style, Detective. It is not _anybody's_ style, and if I get head lice from this, I am blaming you, as well as litigating this entire place for a substantial fraction of its net worth." Lucifer cocks an eyebrow. "The one thing the Devil never lacks is lawyers, after all."

Chloe snorts, grabs him by the arm, spins him around, and marches him over for the family photo. Once they have finally gotten it, and are walking out of the mall without having been arrested, Trixie frolicking ahead, Lucifer heaves a sigh. "That is truly one of the most bizarre holiday customs you humans have invented yet, and I'm counting the one where the spawn dress up and extort unsuspecting suburbanites for candy."

"What?" Chloe says mischievously. "I thought you were a fan of Halloween. All those witches and goblins and ghosts, all that opportunity for tricks and treats."

"Oh, _my_ version of Halloween is most enjoyable, yes." He gives her another one of those I'm-undressing-you-with-my-eyes looks, which she sighs at just for the sake of form. Lucifer has zero sense of social propriety, but if she's totally honest, that's one of the things she likes about him. She always has to toe the line, to follow the book, to play the game, even when she doesn't want to. Having someone like him, who just strolls in and tears the book to shreds and wins at the game by breaking all the rules, is, well, exhilarating. Like he's the half of her that wants to break out of the box, and she's the half of him that could stand to be stuffed headfirst into it. If nothing else, the fact that he blurts out every thought he ever has, no matter how risibly inappropriate, gives her a sense of security. She knows he's never hiding anything from her, never lies, never stops to think (for better or worse) if everyone needs to immediately know whatever he's been doing or how he's feeling. As well, he's gorgeous, worships (so to speak) the ground she walks on and thinks she's the best person in the world, fought the actual Angel of Death to protect her and Eve, is incredibly good in bed, provides lavishly for her and the kids, and, yes, says to Dan all the things she would sometimes like to, but restrains for the sake of familial diplomacy. She's not trading him in for anyone. That doesn't mean she doesn't get to push his buttons, especially after he spends so much time pushing everyone else's.

They get through the next two weeks without too much mayhem, although there are a few grisly cases at work (no wonder the holidays make people murderous, Lucifer remarks) that aren't exactly the thing for ginning up the festive spirit. They've continued to be partners, though arranging childcare can be a bit tricky. Trixie's at school for most of the day, but Eve needs a babysitter, and there are only so many times you can ask Maze to do it before you begin to sense that this may be a bad idea. After all, Lux still needs to be run, and they don't want to just drop Eve off at daycare and only ever see her for a few hours at night. So as much they can, they just put her in the back of the squad car and bring her along. They have definitely taken advantage of the harried/scatterbrained parents act to get into places or weasel information, although of course they don't bring Eve to anything that might end up being dangerous. Chloe is absolutely not interested in finding out the hard way if her infant daughter is immortal/invulnerable too.

Finally, it's Christmas Eve, they get off early because nobody has managed to be brutally axe-murdered in the last twenty-four hours, and go home to have cocoa and snacks and cookies with the kids. It's almost cool, a fog rolling in off the sea that varnishes everything in a silver haze (the closest you ever get around here to a white Christmas) and Trixie is, of course, bouncing off the walls. Once she has hung her stocking and finally convinced that if she doesn't get into bed, Santa will never come, Chloe tucks her in while Lucifer goes upstairs to put Eve down. Chloe ends up having to read _The Night Before Christmas_ five times (Trixie wants her to do voices for the reindeer, which is difficult when they don't, you know, have any lines) and when she finally emerges, she shuts the door, sighs deeply, and looks at the glowing tree, feeling on a bit of holiday overload herself. Then to her surprise, she hears music from the alcove. Piano music. A slow, jazzy version of –

A grin spreads across her face as she turns the corner. Lucifer doesn't seem to notice that she's there, and then stops abruptly when he does see her. "What? Can't help it if the gingerbread fumes momentarily deranged me."

"Oh, stuff it." Chloe saunters over. "You can admit you like it, you know."

"I do have a reputation to keep up, Detective, which you already sorely damaged by inflicting that headgear atrocity on me. But." Lucifer hesitates, shrugs, and starts to play again, a bit faster. Then he looks up at her and breaks into song.

 _I don't want a lot for Christmas  
There is just one thing I need  
I don't care about the presents  
Underneath the Christmas tree  
I just want you for my own  
More than you could ever know  
Make my wish come true oh  
All I want for Christmas is you._

"Oh, no." Chloe giggles and covers her face. She is only human, after all. She is not capable of resisting a personal Lucifer serenade, especially when he is singing in that deep, soulful croon and giving her heart eyes. "Stop."

Of course, she doesn't really want him to stop, and of course, he doesn't. When he finishes, she grins a moment longer, then leans down and kisses him on the nose. "You know," she says. "I may just have that sexy Santa costume upstairs. If you're interested."

On the very spot, Lucifer Morningstar decides that this holiday isn't so terrible after all. It's a true Christmas miracle.

They are woken up early the next morning, sexy Santa costume still on the floor, by a thoroughly overexcited Trixie, as Chloe yawns, pulls Lucifer's arm over her, and groans, "Trix, it's six AM, can we wait another hour?" She knows this is like trying to put the genie back in the bottle, but she is rather worn out from last night. This being her own fault, of course, but still.

Naturally, this does not work, and after a few more minutes, they get up, put on their pajamas and bathrobes, and plod downstairs, having stopped to collect Eve (she is a disgustingly early bird, which she doesn't get from her father). At the bottom, Chloe does a double take, as the pile of presents under the tree, which wasn't miserly in the first place, has at least doubled. Her jaw drops as she turns to Lucifer. "What – did you – "

"Don't look at me, darling, I had nothing to do with it. Apparently the fat man didn't asphyxiate on his way down the chimney after all. Cheery!"

Chloe grins at him, sensing that Santa was probably named Amenadiel and Lucifer recruited him to literally drop in during the dead of night with a sack full of gifts. Then she leans over and kisses him on the cheek. "Maybe next year you'll have all the whining out of your system, huh?"

Lucifer looks taken aback but very pleased at the idea of there being a next year, even as something else occurs to him, and he sighs. "Right, in just a few months once we're done with this ridiculousness, we're going to have to contend with Easter. As if the fat man isn't traumatizing enough, now we have a giant anthropomorphic rabbit with colored eggs something something my half-brother came back from the dead. Bloody marvelous."

Chloe grins, snuggling herself into his side. "One holiday to kick your ass at a time."

* * *

And then there is the other thing to wonder about, far more pressing than whether Lucifer can avoid making a scene at the mall, which they have both put aside for the moment but by no means forgotten about: whether Eve is a Nephilim.

After all, when the Angel of Death tries to kill you and your unborn child on the merest off-chance that it could end up as one, it tends to get your attention, and while Chloe is still a neophyte on the full details of the supernatural stuff, she isn't dismissing or laughing off the possibility. She doesn't believe in the least that anybody is "born bad" – if she's dating the literal Devil, she is clearly standing behind the idea that anyone can and will change, no matter how long or how hard it is, and no way is she going to buy that Eve is somehow intrinsically tainted as a result. If Azrael disagrees, he's welcome to try again, and Lucifer will likewise kick his feathered ass in round two (although of course Chloe would really rather prefer to avoid that). But it's true that Nephilim are not remembered fondly in any quarters, and Azrael isn't the only person who would have a sinister interest if Eve was one. As she's growing from a baby into a little girl, it's hard to tell – toddlers are terrifying enough even when they are 100% _Homo sapiens._ She's precocious and stubborn and independent and charming and adorable and a total spitfire, who is – unfortunately – rather too much like her father to ever look away from. As Chloe discovers to her mortification one day soon after Eve's second birthday, when she is distracted for two seconds at the drugstore and is rewarded with total chaos. "Lucifer, your daughter wrecked an entire sunglasses display in under a minute. And then a bit of the magazine aisle for good measure. I think we are banned from every Walgreens in this country."

"So?" Lucifer gazes upon her with bursting paternal fondness. "Must have been an ugly display."

"No, that's not the point. It's – if she _is_ something, you need to, I don't know, help her get it under control." Chloe is aware that teaching a two-year-old manners is a dicey proposition no matter what, but still. Eve has just about everyone wrapped around her little finger (including Maze, no matter how much she tries to pretend otherwise). Amenadiel and Chloe are the only ones who lay down the law, as they are far too familiar with Lucifer's foibles, and Eve gets them all from her dad. "You don't reward your kids when they act out like this, you discipline them. I'll do that, but you have to have my back on this. We went through it with Trixie. I'm not going to be Mean Mom while you get to be Fun Dad. So – "

They are interrupted by a crash, then a shriek, as they panic and run into the kitchen, where Eve has managed to climb onto the counter, pull open the cupboards, avalanche out the dishes and food, and create a localized disaster zone on the floor. She's crying her head off, but doesn't look to be actually hurt. "You know," Lucifer says, striding over to pick her up. "I'm quite sure she gets this from _your_ side of the family, Detective."

Chloe doesn't say anything. Just gives him a _Really?!_ look.

"All right." Lucifer joggles Eve on his hip, as Chloe looks around despairingly at the shambles of the kitchen. "Maybe not."

And yet. Even as frustrating as all of this is, there's still one other thing which is greater, the one fear Chloe can't shake no matter what. And paradoxically, it gets stronger the longer that nothing goes wrong. Maybe it's just her innately pessimistic nature, but knowing that Lucifer actually is who he told her he was all along, when she just always thought he was overly imaginative and too dedicated to his persona, means that the possibility of something else cosmic and terrible – you know, like the Angel of Death – always remains on the table. The devil has now been out of hell for almost ten years. Settled down, built a nice life, left his old carousing and partying and womanizing ways behind, is almost respectable nowadays. Changed. Grown up (well, sort of). And that is what scares Chloe. He's the _Devil._ He isn't the kind of guy who gets to ride off into the sunset like a hero and live happily ever after. One day, possibly soon, he's going to have to pay the piper. He's going to have to go back to hell. And this time, never return.

She tries to talk herself out of it. She reminds herself what Amenadiel said, that the Big Man Upstairs wouldn't have sent Lucifer his wings if he was intending for him to go back. That he's had to change as the world does, at last. Frankly, since Chloe never bought into the fire-and-brimstone, do-as-I-say-or-you're-damned-for-eternity shtick, she can't help but think that putting hell permanently out of business might not be a bad idea. Of course, however, nobody is operating according to her opinion on this, and whatever temporary situation they've got going on for all the already-eternally-damned-folks is, well, temporary. And, well. . .

Between taking down bad guys by day and going home together when they're done, usually to Trixie and Eve but sometimes to Lux for the evening, they are almost never apart. Chloe had to go to Santa Barbara for a case a few months ago, stayed the night, and almost didn't know what to do with herself. They haven't become one of those couples whose names are always said in the same breath, ChloeandLucifer, who have no interests or relationships outside each other, but they just go together, and both of them are much happier when they are. They bicker, because they always do, because they still relish prodding at each other and challenging each other and keeping each other on their toes, never getting too complacent, never taking anything for granted. But she loves him, she loves him, she loves him, she _loves_ him. The thought is always half-present in the back of her head, never something she forgets or disregards. Sometimes at night she rolls over and locks her arms around his neck and her legs around his thighs, and clings to him like a koala, so she can sleep knowing that he's there and he's solid and he's real. At times she almost wants to have another baby with him, before Eve does something like the kitchen catastrophe and nips the thought smartly in the bud, and besides, the last thing Chloe wants is a repeat of _that_ saga. They have their two girls, and each other. That is all they need.

And so, Chloe grows increasingly certain that while Lucifer might have bargained with God for her life, fought demons and defied his brothers and faced down his mother, taken on the actual Angel of Death, and braved the mall at Christmastime to visit Santa (probably the most horrifying of all his sacrifices on her behalf, poor thing) then she is going to do the same. She doesn't care what it takes, she doesn't care if she's just some puny mortal who will inevitably be discounted and disregarded. Whatever is coming, _whoever_ is coming, if they try to drag Lucifer into hell, they're going to have to go through her first.

Eve has recently turned three when Chloe comes home one day and hears a merry, jangling chaos emanating from the alcove. Thinking that Eve might be doing something unspeakable to Lucifer's precious piano, she rushes around and instead finds the two of them seated side by side, Eve's short legs dangling off the bench, as Lucifer patiently corrects the placement of her small hands on the keys and encourages her to try again. Eve does so, tongue between her teeth, and Chloe watches them with pride, not wanting to interrupt the moment, until they realize she's there. Eve waves. "Look, Mommy. I'm gonna play with Daddy."

"Yes, you are, honey. You're doing a great job." The change from two to three has made the world of difference, as Lucifer has decreed that no offspring of _his_ will be an uncultured savage, and he has delighted in teaching Eve proper manners and deportment. He has also turned her into quite a little fashionista, as she is already getting critical of the clothes Chloe picks out at Gap Kids and Target (no, she is _not_ buying designer labels for a three-year-old, end of story). Chloe has also had to stop her from critiquing other people's sartorial (or otherwise) shortcomings to their faces, informing her that they are playing a fun game called "Let's Not Act Like Daddy In Public." Which, you know, is a bit depressing when you are more able to count on your three-year-old not to make a scene than you are your boyfriend.

Eve beams, jumps off the bench, and runs toward the kitchen for a juice box, and Lucifer regards Chloe with considerable satisfaction. "Look at me, Detective. So fatherly of me, isn't it? Passing on my skills, imparting valuable advice to the younger generation. It's very attractive, I won't lie. If you wanted to jump my bones right here, I couldn't possibly blame you."

"Hush, you," Chloe says tolerantly. "Your bones get jumped plenty."

"Oh, they do." Lucifer eyes her with a lascivious grin. "Most well climbed, my general skeletal anatomy, and most other parts of me to boot. But, well." He hesitates, the smirk falling off his face, until he looks quieter, almost grim. "Chloe. I had a question for you."

Her heart lurches. He only calls her by her first name when it's serious. "What? Lucifer, what?"

"I just was wondering. . ." He glances up with those imploring dark eyes. "Do you think. . . it's time to show her _Hot Tub High School?"_

Yes, Chloe thinks. Oh yes, Decker, this is the man you're worried you might have to live without. The very one. "You _jerk!_ I almost thought something was really wrong! And we are – " she shoots a glance over her shoulder – "we are _not_ showing her that movie. Especially not when she is three."

"Why not? Trixie's seen it!"

"Also when she was too young for it, thank you!"

"Isn't that what families are supposed to do? Support each other's talents? Besides, I love that movie. I still watch it from time to time, especially if I'm feeling lonely."

"I did not need to know that," Chloe sighs. "Besides, the movies you enjoy and the movies that are appropriate for children are about three hundred miles apart on the Venn diagram. They're not even in the same zip code."

"Wrong. I do enjoy _The Empire Strikes Back._ You know, the one where the hero's father is evil and mutilates him and chucks him out of a city in the clouds and generally ruins his life." Lucifer waggles an eyebrow. "Always did go for that one."

"What – no, you are not Luke Skywalker, and Vader ended up being good in the end, and – " Chloe rubs her eyes. Arguing with your boyfriend, the Devil, about whether or not his dad, God, is like Darth Vader is definitely one for the "nobody taught me my adult life was going to be like this" ledger. "You're more like Han Solo."

"Handsome scoundrel with a heart of gold? Yes, I suppose that is me." Lucifer crosses his legs and leans back to look at her with a fetching grin. "Which makes you my feisty princess who never misses her shot, doesn't it?"

This is so adorable that Chloe momentarily forgets to be annoyed at him. Instead she leans down and kisses his nose. "Sounds like a good idea for Halloween this year. You be Han, I'll be Leia, Trix can be Rey, and Eve can be, I don't know, Chewie. Your devoted sidekick with a lot of hair who howls a lot."

"She doesn't howl nearly as much anymore," Lucifer points out. "Slap some ears on her, she can be a perfect little Yoda. We really could do an entire family event out of this, it's so precious it's making my teeth ache. Amenadiel can be Mace Windu, and Maze one of those strange-looking Jedi with several lightsabers. Oh, I know. Can we get Dan to dress as Jar Jar?"

"I thought you were over your Dan obsession," Chloe says, even while knowing that this probably will never be the case. Dan has finally accepted that she and Lucifer are together for the long run, that they make each other happy and they're good for each other, and that Eve isn't a bad kid; he has taken her as well as Trixie for a weekend here and there, and the girls always seem to enjoy it. He's dated a few other people, but hasn't settled into a serious relationship yet. Chloe suspects he might always carry something of a torch for her, but, well, that's Dan's problem. At least he and Lucifer can (mostly) be in the same room without attempting to devour each other alive, though they're still far from BFFs. Lucifer in general doesn't have many friends, but certainly more than he used to, and he's making progress, slowly but steadily, on the idea of listening to other people besides just her and caring about their opinion. Not always enough to do anything about it, no, but this is already more than she ever thought he'd manage. If you can be proud of a many-millennia-old (by calendar) and five-year-old (by temperament) celestial being for learning basic adult social skills, well, she's proud.

It's a few days later, when she's off from work and is out running errands with Eve, Lucifer busy at Lux, when – _it,_ whatever that is – happens. They've just left the post office and are on their way back to the car, and Eve is frolicking ahead, having whatever adventure little kids are always having, as Chloe calls, "Hey, baby, wait for Mommy, okay?" She unlocks the door, turns around to lift Eve in, and. . .

She's not there.

Heart immediately picking up several notches, Chloe whirls around. "Eve? Evie? Honey, it's time to go, come on." What the – she did not have her eye off her for more than a split second, having learned well in Eve's toddler-terror days. She's a cop, she knows about all the dire warnings about how little time it takes for some pedophile to roll up in a big white van and whisk your child away, but it wasn't even that. Eve was right here. Right here.

Chloe starts to run, pulse hammering in her throat. She thinks she can hear Eve talking to someone ahead, and a jolt of relief spears her through the sternum – as long as it isn't like the incident of a few weeks ago where Eve proudly told some nice churchgoing old lady that her daddy is the Devil and used to run hell, but got bored, moved here, met Mommy, and decided to stay. They haven't yet attempted to sit down and actually explain to her what that means, but it's never as if she hasn't known; it is totally impossible for Lucifer to keep a secret and/or refrain from reminding everyone of his infernal origins for longer than two seconds, after all. Eve just thinks it's something else silly about Daddy, and everyone knows toddlers make things up and garble what they hear. It's still adorable whenever she says that, for now. But if it's to someone who is well aware that it's not a joke –

"Eve?" Chloe skids around the corner. "Baby, this really isn't – "

And then, it hits. She can't even say what, because nothing measurably changes – at least, to outward appearance. But everything goes strange and slow, then freezes. Like the world just isn't moving, or as if she isn't. She can't move or speak or do anything except stand there, watching and listening in crystal-clear high definition, as Eve wanders up to a man who looks like Amenadiel's much older brother – ten or fifteen years, maybe – with salt and pepper beard. Looks, in fact, a hell of a lot like Idris Elba. He probably isn't Idris Elba, as Idris Elba surely has far better things to do with his time than lounge around alleys next to post offices (though you never know, this _is_ Hollywood, Chloe once ran into Reese Witherspoon at 7-Eleven) but there you have it. Eve doesn't appear all that scared to see him, just curious. "Hi. Who are you?"

Probably Not Idris Elba smiles. "What's your name?"

"Eve Morningstar." Eve grins proudly, as if she isn't currently violating Rule Number One on every single parenting checklist ever: don't let your kids talk to random strangers in shady places. Chloe tries to move, but she still can't. Her voice is locked in her throat.

"Eve Morningstar? That's very pretty. Here, Eve." He holds something out. "I want you to try something for me. Can you make this float?"

Chloe tries again to yell, and can't. Rule Number Two, after all, is _don't take candy from strangers._ This, however, isn't candy. It's a dun silver coin that looks vaguely familiar, which she seems to recall Lucifer having at one point – but not for several years. Something about hell. Getting out of it. Or in?

In any case, Eve plucks it out of Probably Not Idris Elba's hand and looks at it. Then she throws it in the air, as most young children would do with a sudden shiny thing handed to them – but it doesn't fall. It ends up spinning over her small hand, over and over, without quite touching it. She gives PNIE a smug look, as if to say that any idiot could have floated it, and makes it soar upward, do a loop-the-loop, and flitter back down. "It's pretty. What is it?"

"It's known as a Pentecostal coin. It's special. Not everyone can do what you did. Have you ever seen one of these before?"

Eve scrunches up her face. "No."

"And your father. . . what's his name, exactly?"

Eve grins. She likes this subject. "His name's Lucifer. He's the Devil."

Chloe redoubles her efforts to take a step, and PNIE – God, she needs a less cumbersome name for him – looks directly at her, as if he's perfectly well aware that she's there and he would just appreciate it if she waited until he was done. He then glances back at Eve. "He's the Devil."

"Yeah."

"And what does he do? Are you ever. . . afraid of him?"

Eve looks as if he's just asked if she's scared of her favorite stuffed rabbit. "No. That's dumb."

PNIE considers this. It's impossible to say if this was the answer he wanted or not. Then he nods to the coin. "You keep that, Eve. As a. . . present. I'll see you soon."

With that, he steps around the corner, there's a distant rushing sound, and Chloe's legs finally unlock. She runs forward, knowing that if she tries to find him, he'll already be gone, and besides, she's more concerned with Eve. She kneels in front of her daughter, unable to stop herself from grasping her shoulders, checking for injuries, even though she didn't see anything that might have caused them. "Eve Sophia Morningstar, what have I told you about running away? You can't do that, remember? What did he give you?"

Eve blinks at her with long dark lashes, confused. "What, Mommy? What man?"

"The man you were just talking to, he looked like Uncle Amenadiel, but a little older. He told you to keep the – " To Chloe's consternation, she's not entirely sure what she's trying to say. Her memory isn't helping either. She just saw it a few seconds ago, how can she already have forgotten? "He handed you something. What – what was it?"

"I didn't talk to any man, Mommy." Eve looks at her archly. "You're not _supposed_ to."

"No, you're not." Chloe gets to her feet, gripping Eve's hand firmly and leading her back to the car. "Do _not_ run away again, young lady. Understand?"

She's still shaken and distracted by the time they get home. Trixie is about to finish sixth grade in a few more weeks, meaning she's starting middle school in the fall (oh God) and she's been asking if she can have a graduation party, which always seems like a silly request whenever other people's kids do it but is harder to turn down when your own kid asks for it. The school is doing a ceremony with little mortarboards and everything, so Chloe has agreed they can get a cake and maybe a few friends over. Lucifer has predictably sarcastic opinions on this, but he has at least refrained from offering them up to Trixie's face. Besides, Trixie has recently decided that "Trixie" is a little girl's name, and she wants to be called "Beatrice" now, which everyone is struggling to adapt to. She also says there is a boy who likes her, which gives them hives. Though any preteen junior varsity kid bold enough to so much as hold her hand, when her father and mother are both tough LAPD homicide detectives and her stepfather is the literal Devil, deserves some kind of bravery award.

Chloe starts to throw together dinner, half-thinking she just had some kind of vivid waking dream – Eve clearly doesn't remember it at all. Chloe is well aware of the shit that went down the last time a mysterious man with an interest in the Devil's offspring crossed her path, and that is enough to make her break out in a cold sweat. Is this another of Lucifer's brothers, some angel or other? Scouting out relief pitchers if the ace doesn't feel like returning to the team in time to close down the game? Assessing Eve's suitability to run hell in his place?

None of this does anything to calm her frazzled nerves as Trixie gets home from school and Lucifer doesn't turn up until much later; it's usually just Chloe and the girls for dinner on Fridays, as he devotes it to playing piano and schmoozing and hosting whatever theme night at Lux. She knows it's the routine, but she is still short with him when he arrives close to midnight. "Well. Glad to see someone's been having a good time and living the old bachelor life."

Lucifer blinks, taken aback by this unexpected thorniness. "Good evening to you too, Detective. Did someone mix up your Midol and your placebos?"

"Yeah, make a PMS joke. Classy." Chloe sucks in an unsteady breath, reminding herself that it's not going to do any good to snap at him. "I – look, I'm sorry, let's start over. I just – earlier today, I – well, it's going to sound completely crazy, although admittedly not any crazier than what usually happens with us, and – "

"You're gibbering, my dear. Like a hedge fund manager on a hit of nitrous oxide." Lucifer cocks his head. "Come sit down, then talk sensibly, eh?"

He leads her over to the couch, where Chloe tries again to fill him in, but can't get much further than insisting that she met a man and he was a little weird – which, frankly, describes ninety-eight percent of all human interactions in Los Angeles. It's clear that Lucifer can't tell if she's trying to make him feel guilty for being late, or if it's something else, but she doesn't play games like this. "Detective. . . Chloe. . . you're still not making any sense. Are you – " He looks alarmed. "Oh bloody hell, you're not pregnant again, are you?"

"No. As far as I know." Chloe manages a strained chuckle. "I just – like I said, I met him and he asked. . . he looked like. . ." She stops. "Was I talking about a man?"

"Yes, you were." Lucifer looks at her narrowly, but his concern is evident. "Quite poorly, really. So, all's well that ends well. Are you coming to bed?"

"Yeah. Yeah, of course." Chloe gets up slowly and follows him up the dark stairs, where they head into their room, undress, and crawl into bed. She grabs hold of him, pulling him onto and into her, and he follows her lead, as he always does. When they're done, she nestles still closer to him, tucking herself against his chest, tracing her fingers on his arm. Moves her hand up to the curve of his shoulder, then down his back. The scars aren't there any more, but she thinks again that she can feel some flutter of the invisible wings, a faint lingering warmth that's more than just sex and sleep, a deep glow. Wonders if this is what it might take, one way or another, to deal with whatever's going on, if anything actually is. The fallen angel, after so long, rising.

Or maybe it's still not as much as she thinks. She's not even certain anything happened today. It'll be fine. Just needs to carry on. Nothing's wrong.

Maybe.

* * *

The next several weeks are extremely busy, and not in a good way. Apparently it's spring cleaning season, so everyone is killing those pesky people they no longer want around the house – enough of a spike, even for the LAPD, that Chloe wonders if Mercury is in retrograde or there is some other atmospheric motivating factor, like that sound only dogs can hear which drives them crazy. She and Lucifer are practically run off their feet, to the point where she has no time to worry about someone she may or may not have met and who doesn't seem that important anyway. She's been in this line of work a long time, and she's seen almost everything, but sometimes you still get jaded at how incredibly, needlessly awful humanity can be to each other for no apparent reason. Have to maintain the balance between empathy and skepticism, kindness and taking no shit, and for the first time, Chloe wonders if she really wants to keep doing this for the rest of her life. She certainly isn't going back into acting, or some mindless cubicle-farm desk job; she needs meaning, she needs to make a difference, and she isn't just going to sit back and live on Lucifer's money. But this is wearing on her more than it used to, and she doesn't know what to do with that.

It's when they're down near Chavez Ravine, collecting statements on the murder of a well-known groupie who was apparently sleeping with half the Dodgers roster (oh god, this is going to be fun to sort out) that Chloe steps outside for a second to phone the station and – it happens again. That strange lacuna, lapse of reality, turning into something crystalline and frozen, stretched out, like a slide underneath a microscope. She knows about the slow-mo effect Amenadiel supposedly can produce, though as a human she can't experience it herself, but this is different. And indeed, she looks up, and there he is. Probably Not Idris Elba, looking just as handsome-older-action-hero as ever. Leaning against the wall of the house, as if he's been waiting all along, but she would definitely have noticed him as they drove up. Seeing her, he straightens up and says, "Hello, Chloe."

"You – " Oh, apparently she's allowed to talk this time, instead of being totally paralyzed. Memory comes rushing back in a freezing wave. How could she – what is – no. "What the hell do you want?"

He smiles. "Always a little uncanny when all the metaphors become literal, isn't it?"

"This is an active crime scene. Did you know a Gina Elise Vasquez? Because if so, I'm going to need to ask you a few questions."

He waves that aside. "You know that's not what I'm here for."

"Do I? I want a name, or some ID. Maybe there's some database you're in, something interesting that will flag up, like, say, the sex offenders registry – "

"I'm not in any database." He still looks amused. "I'm sorry I scared you. My name's Mike. Mike Andrews."

"Oh?" Chloe doesn't let down her guard. "And what exactly do you want, Mr. Andrews? You were talking to my daughter – what are you, some kind of Professor X? She's three. _Three._ Whatever cause you're recruiting for, we're not interested."

"I'm not recruiting for anything. I'm just doing my job." He looks at her levelly. "Everything that's going on right now, Chloe, it's only going to get worse. These deaths, they're going to spread. The cosmos aren't balanced. The center cannot hold. The machine is breaking down. And I think you know what needs to happen to stop it."

It takes her a moment, but it clicks. The strange reality-altering powers, the meddling with her memories, the interest in Eve, the sense that he's stronger than anyone she's ever met, and she's met quite a few. . . "Mike," she repeats. "Short for Michael? Archangel Michael, the commander of God's forces during the war in heaven against Satan. That's who you are, isn't it?"

He looks impressed. "You've been doing some reading, little unbeliever."

"Yeah. Well. I've been with – him for a while." She doesn't want to say Lucifer's name aloud, not to him. "I've had time to catch up."

"Glad we can dispense with the run-around, then." Michael shrugs briskly. The world seems to tremble like a coin flicked with a thumb, as if the warp and weft of it is sucked and distorted around him. "I understand you had a run-in with Azrael a few years ago, so I suppose you're somewhat used to us. . . higher beings."

"I've met a few angels, yeah. You don't need to flatter yourself that you're the first."

"Angels." Michael seems to find that funny. "You mean the fallen, debased mockery of everything our father gave him, the long-absentee Lord of Hell who is now, yet again, destroying the world with his selfishness? Or Amenadiel, who's chosen to stay in the human world, throw his lot in with _him,_ bed with a demon, and likewise pretend he's no more than what he is, forsaking his place in the divine pantheon? You don't know a thing about angels."

"If all of them are this self-righteous, I don't think I want to." Chloe stands her ground, though her knees are wobbling slightly. This is so far above her pay grade, so very far, but she doesn't care. "That's the thing about you. Everything is completely black and white, no room for questioning, no room for change or nuance. No wonder there was such a family tiff, when Lucifer started asking about free will." If Michael won't say his name either, then she will, just to make a point. "Amenadiel started out that way too. And you know what? He changed. Now he's a good man. My kids love their uncle. He and Lucifer don't have to pretend they hate each other when they spend time together. He's been there for me plenty of times too. So if that's your definition of falling, of failing, then I don't buy it."

Michael continues to look amused, which is almost more galling than if he was angry. Her tiny, insignificant, fleck-of-dust mortal opinion isn't even worth getting worked up one iota about, and so he's not going to bother. "Be that as it may, I didn't make the rules. Nor can I change them. Lucifer goes back to hell, or Eve takes over in his place. Otherwise, it ends. It all ends. You seem like a smart girl, Chloe. Caring. The kind who would never be so cruel as to condemn the rest of the world to apocalypse just because she wanted a few more years with her boyfriend. There's a choice. The entire future is riding on it. Make the right one."

Chloe opens her mouth, tries to answer, and can't. Finally, she says, "Just so you know, I'm not a girl. Must be hard to tell us lowly humans apart. Then again, you don't have any female angels, do you? No wonder you've totally made a mess of it, if it's all run by men who think they're always one hundred percent right. Bit of a problem down here, too."

That actually catches Michael, ever so briefly, on the hop. Then he shrugs again. "I don't want to do this the hard way," he says. "One war against him was damaging enough. I don't dare imagine what a second would do. But he goes, or Eve does. You decide. I'll see you soon."

And with that, there's a rushing noise, Chloe staggers, and the next, she's blinking at empty air, the world has returned to its usual speed and texture, and she has to put out a hand to steady herself. Her heart is beating almost out of her chest, and looking down at her phone, she sees that not even a minute has passed, as if he just took her out of time and space for a quick chat and then popped her back in. As if demonstrating that if need be, he doesn't have to bring her back next time, or for that matter, Eve. He probably can't just snatch Lucifer this way, a full-grown angel who's too powerful to just be yanked sideways out of his current plane of existence, otherwise they would have solved the playing-hooky-from-Hell problem long ago. A call. She's supposed to make a call. To the station. About the case. About the girl who's dead. Gina Vasquez. She's dead because more people are going to die, because this won't stop. Unless.

Fingers shaking, Chloe manages to get through it, then heads back inside. At the sight of her face, which really must be spectacular, Lucifer makes a beeline for her. "Detective? Chloe? Darling, what's wrong?"

"I – I'm. . . I'm fine. I guess this just, you know. Rattled me." Chloe manages a smile. "Just stepped out to get some air and phone back to the precinct."

Lucifer frowns worriedly at her, as they are both well aware that a hardened homicide detective does not get rattled like a rookie at a fairly standard murder scene. "Oh no," he says. "You _are_ pregnant. I knew it."

"No, I'm not. I told you, okay?" Chloe tries to retrieve her notepad, but drops it. "Let's just finish up here and get back to the station. Come on."

They manage to conclude their preliminary investigation, compile a depressingly long suspect list (practically anyone associated with the world of L.A. pro sports, at this rate) and turn in their work. As they're getting in the car to pick up Eve, who has spent the day with Maze, Lucifer says abruptly, "Chloe, what aren't you telling me?"

"I'm. . . I just have a lot of things on my mind, with everything going on. If I think of anything in particular, I'll let you know. It's just stuff."

"Stuff." He doesn't look convinced, but doesn't push. "Very well. Lead the way, then."

They retrieve Eve, who is delighted to tell them that today, Auntie Maze showed her how to pull a man's spleen out through his spine (they have to instantly forbid her from attempting any practical demonstrations) and head home. Trixie's graduation party is on Saturday, the day after tomorrow, and Chloe has almost forgotten to order the cake (duly making sure it says "Congratulations _Beatrice")_ so she has to run out and do that, as well as catch up on a few other things she hasn't had time for because of the ridiculous caseload. When she gets home, the house is quiet, the kids are in their rooms, and piano music drifts from the alcove. Something modern, country-pop. It takes her a minute, but they've been listening to enough radio driving back and forth that she gets it. "I Just Can't Live a Lie" by Carrie Underwood. Ouch.

She winces, braces herself, and ventures around the corner, waiting until Lucifer pointedly deigns to acknowledge her. He raises an eyebrow, as if to say that if she wants to dispute the accuracy of his song choice, he's all ears. "Out doing mysterious things for as long as you please, no explanation needed? But I'm the one who gets yelled at when I come home a bit late, eh?"

Chloe winces again, and sits down on the piano bench next to him. "Lucifer. . . I'm sorry, all right? I got so used so early to you telling me absolutely everything, and I. . . I always act like it drives me crazy, but it doesn't. Sometimes I'm not sure anyone needed to know it, yes, but I take it for granted, and I shouldn't. And there's still just this part of me that says I should keep things to myself. It's not an excuse, but after Dan, after Palmetto, after all the time he let me think I was crazy, I just assume that I won't be believed or that I'll be gaslit or I should just figure it out myself. . . but that's not you. That's not us. I'm sorry."

Lucifer's forbidding expression softens, and he puts an arm around her, tucking her into her usual spot on his shoulder. "All old married couples have their squabbles, don't they? Though we're neither old nor married, but you take my point. What's wrong?"

Chloe hesitates one more time, then spills. What she was trying to say a few weeks ago, what happened today, what Michael told her. Lucifer's arm turns more and more tense as she speaks, until she finally concludes into an awful silence. "Well?" she whispers at last. "Do you have any ideas?"

"I. . ." He looks uncertain, wary, almost afraid. If it was just a matter of kicking Michael's ass like he did with Azrael, she has no doubt he would already be rushing out to challenge him to a heavenly bar brawl, but that is the exact opposite of anything remotely helpful in this situation. "Well, honestly, darling, no. Not at the moment. But I'll come up with something."

"No. We will, okay?" Chloe lifts her head to look at him. "Let's not do this alone. No matter how much both of us instinctively think we should. But not for this. Not like this."

"Agreed." He kisses her hair, and her fingers tighten convulsively on a fistful of his black silk shirt. "All of those nauseating motivational posters about the value of teamwork have to have some sort of point, or at least one must surely hope. But we solve everything else together, Detective. We'll find a way."

She hopes.

Oh God (no thanks to _him)_ she hopes.

* * *

They get through Friday in a blur, then have to drag themselves together on Saturday for Trixie's party. They drive to the school, sit in the hot gymnasium, watch her get that prized elementary-school diploma, take a few pictures, exchange the obligatory courtesies with Dan, and are frankly relieved when it's over. They're just walking back to the car, Trixie skipping in front with visions of celebratory chocolate cake dancing in her head, when Chloe feels it happening. That shift, that unbalancing, that unmaking. The ground turns beneath her feet, and she grabs at Lucifer. "Oh no. No. Oh no."

"What?" He turns toward her, catching her arm, even as he starts to feel it as well, and snatches with his other hand for Eve. A shadow is falling over them, on a perfectly sunny late-spring L.A. day, and the temperature has dropped twenty, thirty degrees in an instant. "Oh, _bloody hell!"_

"Mom?" Trixie stops, turns around. Forgets to be grownup. She looks scared. "Mommy, what's going on?"

"Come here, baby, just – come here." Chloe struggles to raise her arm, which feels as if it weighs a thousand tons. Nobody else gives them a second look, walking past on all sides – nothing's happened to them, they haven't noticed, they're still back in the real world, not this distorted, freezing echo chamber, a halfway-between. "Now, okay?"

Trixie runs to her, and Chloe pulls her against her side, Lucifer on the other, Eve wrapped around his leg. The parking lot fades out of sight, until there's nothing but billowing grey mist on every side, the kind that makes you forget anything good has ever happened, or can ever happen again. Draining and cold and enervating, endless. Until it parts in a swirl, and they see a tall winged figure striding out of it. Carrying a burning sword.

Trixie buries her face in Chloe's chest, as she herself feels too terrified to move or speak. She knows who it is, and she doesn't know what to do – foolishly thought that they'd have more time. Leisure to come up with a plan. But they don't, and they won't, and it's just this, Michael in full angelic form, the warrior, the demon-slayer, the supreme general of the heavenly host and the most magnificent and merciless of all the seraphim. His footfalls echo like thunder, and lightning crackles between the feathers of his golden wings, as he comes to a halt in front of them and lets the sword fall. "Time to choose, Lucifer."

Trixie and Eve's mouths are both wide open, but no sound is coming out. Chloe wonders vaguely if she's having a heart attack.

For a moment more, Lucifer remains motionless. Then he comes back to life, steps away from Chloe and the girls, and faces his elder brother. His form shifts and blurs briefly, and then there's a blaze of burning white light, and his own wings unfurl to either side of him like an army raising its banner, defiant to the last. "Oh," he breathes. "You really want to do this again, do you?"

"It's not my choice." All the stars of all the heavens look back at them from Michael's depthless eyes. "It was my job before to see that you were defeated, that the rebellion was put down, and you went where Father decreed you should go. It still is now. You go, or Eve does."

"Mommy?" Eve looks up at Chloe with huge eyes. "Mommy, I don't wanna go with him."

"You're not going anywhere, baby." Chloe scoops her up and clutches her tightly, daring Michael to rip her out of her arms – he probably could, with no more than a flick of a finger, but the collateral damage would be insane. Even Michael is stuck working around that old loophole, the one Lucifer set into motion with Eve's namesake all those countless millennia ago: free will. Having to choose. He can't just flat-out throw Lucifer into hell again. But he can assuredly force his hand until resisting might cause just as much destruction. Or worse.

Lucifer pauses, then leans down and picks up the flaming sword, as Michael draws another one from somewhere unseen, shaping it into form with a spark and hiss. The two of them circle each other slowly, causing distant reverberations like earthquakes (this is – was – California, they might _be_ earthquakes). "Oh, I remember this," he says. "Tell me, of all our brothers, did it really have to be Amenadiel you put at the gates of Eden, stopping me, stopping the humans, from ever coming back in? Making sure we could never come home? And when you sent him as the first attempt to drag me back down, you must have known his heart wasn't entirely in it, didn't you? So now it's you, at last. Just like old times. But, you know. I'm wondering something."

"I didn't come to hear you talk, Samael."

"Of course you came to hear me talk." Lucifer grins dangerously. "I think I'm putting a few things together. Want to hear? You know, I actually do believe that Azrael was just following orders, when he dropped in a few years back. He's a total clod, that one. Absolutely no hobbies at all. Only one interest. But you see, I thought – of course – that he was following _Dad's_ orders. That he was still determined to punish me and destroy any hope I had of staying in the human realm and making a new life for myself. But you know? I'm starting to think it wasn't."

Michael brings his sword up, as Lucifer follows the motion, two burning slashes in the mist, brilliant and devouring. The world shivers where they threaten to touch. "Be quiet, little brother. This doesn't have to end like this."

"Oh no. I'm not done. Not done by a long shot." Lucifer bares his teeth. "Because you see these? My wings? How I have them again? Amenadiel was on with his usual twaddle about how it was a miracle from Dad, about how he didn't actually want me to go back to hell anymore. And if that's true, how is it that now the world is balanced on the brink because I'm not there? Who still has a grudge against me, who's my most personal enemy, who wouldn't be able to stand it that I didn't have the good sense to stay down? Name on the tip of my tongue. Starts with M."

Michael slashes at him, and Lucifer blocks. The swords hiss and spit and snarl, flames tangling up one blade to the other. "Really tricky," Lucifer goes on. "Because everything you've ever done, everything _you_ ever stood for, hung in the balance if you didn't win that little family argument for good. Who's the one _really_ threatening to destroy the world with his selfishness, _brother?_ Who has opened the door to all the beasts that live just outside, wanting hungrily to come in, and won't call them off unless I take my defeat one more time, and don't presume to ever try this again? Eh?"

Michael swings again, drawing Lucifer overhead to parry, as they whirl off and spin closer again, jousting and taunting, lunging at each other headfirst and exchanging a flurry of blows too fast to see. "I'm right, aren't I?" Lucifer pants. "This has all been you. Not Dad. You. So much for just following orders, for things you can't change! How very _human_ of you, Mikey! You sent Azrael after us. You're the one causing this. Because you wouldn't be Saint Michael, Defender from Demons, if you lost your greatest and most fundamental victory over the worst demon of them all! And you know what? Watch this!"

With that, he throws his head back and yells, "Dad! Hey, Dad! Yeah, you! Guess what? I forgive you! Bet you never saw that coming, you supposedly omniscient big fat git! A wise therapist once told me it's not something you do for other people, it's something you do for yourself, so this is for me! I forgive you! I'm done trying to fight you, of thinking you're my enemy at every turn, when you're not! Hope that's not too much of a disappointment, but you sent me my bloody wings back, and you know what, I finally believe you! Too bad you left your keys lying out, and Mike got hold of them, eh? Hope _somebody's_ getting grounded for the next millennium!"

"What are you – " Michael slashes at him, hard enough that Lucifer's sword sputters, and he's driven a few staggering steps backward. "You're wrong. You're wrong! You're the Devil! You're the one who fell! You're the one whose pride and greed and selfishness nearly destroyed us all! Of course I wanted you back in hell! Of course I wanted to make sure your fecklessness and lust didn't spawn a Nephilim! So whatever I have to do now, I will!"

He points his free hand, makes a motion as if he's tearing thin air, and the ground bursts open, sulfurous red light belching out like the explosion of a volcano. Lucifer, Trixie, Eve, and Chloe are all ripped off balance and thrown toward it, as she can feel her fingernails scraping as she tries desperately to hold on. Lucifer manages to halt their slide just in time, but the edge of the abyss is gaping – it is the literal mouth of hell – and he's lost hold of his sword in the tumble. Trixie and Eve are both crying in terror as he tries to shield them with his wings, but if he goes over, so do they. Chloe is standing in the middle, with her family and hell behind her and the greatest warrior of all the archangels in front of her. Bare-handed. Useless.

The sword is still burning, but feebly. She looks at it. Has half a mad plan. All this time, she's made Lucifer mortal, human. Vulnerable. But maybe, but just maybe, he has in return made her into something, just that bit, just perhaps, angelic.

Michael's eyes dart to the sword, then to her, an instant too late, as Chloe dives for it. Closes her hand around the hilt, feels it scorch and shudder her to the very core. She's almost fainting with the effort to pick it up, to control it, to not let it consume her, as it flares to life again. It's clear from Michael's face that he did not see that coming – any ordinary human should just be a pile of smoking ash. But she's not, and she brandishes it, still burning and coruscating and shaking down her arm. "Hey, buddy," she says in a gasp, forcing out the words, managing a grin of her own. "Back away from my family."

"This is very unwise, little mortal." Michael takes a step, and it's all Chloe can do to keep her balance. "You can't fight me."

"Maybe not." She brings the sword up, cutting an arc of fire through the air. Wants to look back at Lucifer and the girls, but doesn't dare take her eyes off her opponent. "But that doesn't mean I won't try. If you did this, you can stop it. Please. Stop it."

Michael's eyes remain on her for an endless moment. "I can't," he says at last. "The rules were made long ago, what the consequences would be if the door was opened. It was. How, why – it doesn't matter. There is no way to stop it unless Lucifer accepts his destiny."

"Him or my daughter? That's the sick little Sophie's Choice you're trying to force on me?" Chloe can feel the heat of hell beating on her back, lashing through her hair. "You opened that door. You did this. So ultimately, it's not Lucifer's fault if the world is destroyed. It's yours."

"Wrong. You're wrong." For just an instant, Michael sounds less than absolutely certain. "He's the Devil. He can't – "

"No." Chloe almost laughs. "No. _You're_ wrong. He can. He has. And he will."

Michael looks at her as if weighing how to answer, as if he has genuinely never met anyone in his eons of existence who has challenged him, who hasn't fallen to their knees in terror and promised to do whatever he says. Humans aren't supposed to do this, to stand up, to question, and for the briefest instant, Chloe can see him struggling with the absolutely foreign possibility of whether he may be wrong, if in a war where the sides of Good and Evil seem so utterly and indisputably clear cut, there is in fact a nuance, a grey. But it doesn't matter. At that moment, the out-of-control hellmouth sparks, snarls, and rips further open, taking the ground out from beneath Lucifer, Trixie, and Eve. They're there, and then in the next instant, they are not.

Chloe screams, drops the sword, whirls around, and runs to the very edge, beside herself, staring madly into the abyss. Lucifer is about twenty feet below, wings beating furiously against the inferno, holding onto Trixie with one arm and Eve with the other, a loop of fire catching around his ankle and trying to pull them all down. It's clearly taking every bit of his strength to fight it, as he kicks, thrashes, manages to loosen it, and flies up toward her, hoisting Trixie toward Chloe's grasping hands. "Grab me," Chloe sobs, straining toward her daughter. "Come on, honey, Beatrice, grab onto me."

Trixie's sweat-stained, shaking fingers miss hers the first time, then hook on, and Chloe heaves her up onto safer ground. The fire cuff has locked around Lucifer's ankle again, and he's having trouble getting it off for a second time. His eyes meet hers as he uses both hands to lift Eve overhead, wings still flapping as hard as they can, fighting for every inch. Something terrible shudders through her, even as she gets her hands under Eve's arms and lifts her out as well, passing her toward Trixie. Then it's just Chloe and Lucifer, as she sees his wings starting to char with the heat and exertion, searing black around the edges, each labored stroke no longer lifting him as high. Smoke stings her eyes and chokes her throat. "No," she gasps. This is all her nightmares come to life at once, and no way to stop them. "No. Lucifer. Grab my hand. Take my hand."

He doesn't. He just looks at her, at the roiling madness, at Trixie holding Eve, at them, safe. Then at her again, and he smiles. "Detective Chloe Decker," he says. "I love you."

And with that, he stops. Spreads his wings wide, and his arms. Doesn't struggle. Closes his eyes with a grin, and without a word, perfectly by his own choice, his own sacrifice – not being thrown anywhere, not being forced, nothing but him, his decision to save them and all of humanity, closing the door, ultimately and at last, completely at peace –

He falls.

* * *

Later, all Chloe really remembers is clawing at the pavement of the parking lot, tearing her fingers until they bleed, trying to get the ground to open up again, but it won't, it won't. Trixie and Eve are crouched behind her, crying, as the world slams back into place and goes on and there's no Michael and there's no mist and there's no flaming sword and there's no burning mouth of hell and _there's no Lucifer,_ he's gone, he's gone, he's gone. People are starting to stare. She doesn't care. Keeps swearing, sees blood on her hands, doesn't care about that either. This isn't right. This can't be happening. This is just a dream.

She has a vague impression of Dan appearing through the crowd, kneeling next to her, asking what's wrong. He says something about calling an ambulance, and she pushes him off, wild-eyed. No. No ambulance. No. Did he see that? Did he see any of that?

"No," Dan says. It's clear that he thinks she might be suffering some long-awaited psychotic break. "Chloe, what. . . what are you talking about? Where's Lucifer?"

She lets out an awful sound, somewhere between a laugh and a howl. Staggers away. "Trix. . . Trixie. . . Eve. . . you, are you. . ."

They're fine, Trixie clutching hold of her sister. They are staring at her with a mirror of the expression that must be on Chloe's face, clearly unable to process in the slightest bit what just happened. She kneels, gathering them into her, hugging them until none of them can breathe, silent tears falling into their hair. They're here, they're safe, the world is safe because –

He's coming back. He has to be coming back. She can't stand it otherwise.

But in her heart, she knows.

He is never coming back.

* * *

The world without Lucifer is a distant, ghostly, ghastly dream.

Chloe gets the girls home. Cleans them up. Calms them down. Goes through the motions, for that day and the day after that and the day after that. She floats through the world, barely touching it (the sudden upsurge of murders has stopped, they find the guy who killed Gina Vasquez – God, she doesn't even _care)._ Dan calls, clearly concerned, but she doesn't answer. She can't talk to him. It already took all of her strength to go to Lux and find Maze and Amenadiel and explain, thought she was holding it together pretty well, and halfway through, she starts crying so hard that she throws up. She doesn't do that. Not her. But nothing is her anymore, and nothing matters. She can't even grieve, she can't do anything, she can't free herself from the vise around her heart. He's still there, somewhere, still alive, existing for all eternity, back to the job, as if that entire little vacation never happened, and she is never going to see him again. He's always told her that of course she'll be going to heaven. That's how she is. Who she is.

Chloe toys with the demented idea of developing, who knows, a carjacking habit or a drug-running ring or something else that might be bad enough to change her divine ledger, send her to hell instead. But she knows that even if she did succeed, that would be the absolute last thing he would want, to see her stuck down there as well. She doesn't want to gallivant across the elysian fields of heaven with all the people who are responsible for him being down there, doesn't see how it can possibly be heaven for her if that's the case. Maybe she'll end up in Purgatory, or Limbo, or whatever that place is called. Maybe at least that way she might catch a glimpse of him, sometimes. Through a glass darkly.

The nights are the worst. She rolls back and forth in their empty bed, trying to hold still long enough to imagine him there, but she can never do it enough for comfort. Can't even look at the piano for long, hasn't been able to go back to Lux since that first, terrible trip to break the news. She had a life before Lucifer, after all. She should be able to create even the crude simulation of one after him. But if that's going to happen, if it's even possible, it feels months and months and years and years away, like something that is never going to fully heal. She knew. She knew this was going to happen. And yet there's no way to make it better.

Chloe wonders if she should lash out at God, at Michael, at the entire universe, as if that would help. She knows that it won't, and likewise that Lucifer, at long last, after his choice to forgive and give himself up, wouldn't want her to. It's not going to get her anywhere. She can just try to struggle along with her head up, for as long as she possibly can, and then. . . who knows. Lying down sounds nice. Sleeping forever sounds even nicer. But she can't. She has the girls to look after. She has to do this for them.

One night she finds herself out late, driving downtown with nowhere to go, until she turns into Father Frank's old church, the one Lucifer took them to right after Eve was born. Parks, gets out, goes inside. There's a rack of candles burning, the ones people come here to light in memory of their lost loved ones, and after briefly wondering if it's sacrilegious to do so for the Devil and then deciding she doesn't give a literal damn if it is, Chloe takes one out and lights it. Stands there looking at the little flame until her eyes blur with tears, thinking of the Latin words she's only heard on TV, from actors playing priests, from characters, never in real life. _In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti._ The Father isn't much help right now. The Son, well, not there either. The Holy Spirit? Zero for three.

Still, though. It's something, strange and small and damaged as it is. After a moment she pauses, reaches down, and lights a second candle, placing it next to the first. In her mind's eye, she can see Lucifer and Father Frank sitting at some cosmic piano, even though they're not together. Frank is up, Lucifer is down. But maybe, here, for a moment, they can play.

She quits the LAPD. Hands in her badge, contemplates moving somewhere across the country for a fresh start, but she can't bring herself to cut that last thread entirely. She can't do this without her partner anymore, and between Lucifer and her mom, she has more than enough of a nest egg to live on for a while. She never finished her college degree, but maybe she could, start a new career. Everything and nothing seems possible, in this strange, disconnected way. There is no way to make the pain play fair. _Illustrate the remnants of the life I used to live here in Eden._

It's been almost three years now. Trixie is fourteen, Eve is six. They seem more or less all right, kids are resilient, even if Eve won't accept that Daddy is never coming back. Chloe thinks dully about possibly enrolling them in therapy, but how do you talk to a child psychologist about how you're still dealing with residual trauma at seeing your dad/stepdad literally fall into hell to stop the apocalypse, post-duel with an archangel and. . . there is no how-to guide on any way to deal with this. Even more, Chloe wonders if Eve will even remember him as she gets older. It's as if you were in a bad car accident at the age of three – some fragmented impressions may linger, but you're still too young for it to make much of a permanent mark. What would she say? How do you explain Lucifer to a little girl who always just loved him as much as she did? Just tell her that Daddy died (but he didn't die) to save her? That and some ghost of piano lessons? Is that all that Eve gets to have left of him? It's not fair. It's not _fair._

On the third anniversary, Chloe drops Trixie and Eve off at Dan's and goes down to the beach. It's obvious which one. Wanders along the sand, hands in her pockets, looking out to sea. Last time she was here alone, without him, when everything hung in the balance, she found his wings, brought them back and saved his life. There will be no repeat this time, and the knot in her chest won't loosen no matter how deeply she breathes. She misses him, she can't imagine that she will ever stop missing him, that it won't feel like her bones are bending and her blood is sluggish and every time she opens her eyes, there's that brief, impossibly sweet moment before she remembers. She doesn't want to read books about grief. She knows what grief is. She lives in it, like a soft grey blanket. She knows about the stages. She very much does not want to go to a widows' support group, thinks they'd probably chuck her out for not being a real one, but she desperately wants someone to talk to, to understand. Amenadiel does his best, but they still don't see each other very often. She thinks he feels too guilty. Or perhaps just –

Suddenly, she stops, looking out to sea. She felt something – not quite like it was when Michael turned the world on its ear, but similar enough to give her a juddering, nauseating flashback. If he's coming back – what the fuck, hasn't he taken enough from her? Archangel or no archangel, she will punch him in the face if he –

There's someone wading out of the water, stark naked, trailing something that looks like a torn bridal gown. Chloe's old police instincts take over, wondering if they're in trouble, if they need help. But as they get closer, her breath shrivels in her throat, she briefly thinks the ground is opening up beneath her again, and she can't –

She can't _possibly –_

Lucifer Morningstar reaches the shore and steps out, barefoot, onto the sand, wings dragging behind him, looking very wet and very bedraggled and very tired and very solid and very, very handsome. Chloe's outcry sticks in her throat, she remains frozen a moment longer, and then she is running faster than she has in her life, she hits him hard enough to knock both of them back into the water up to her calves, she wraps her arms around his neck and he's _there,_ he's not a dream, he's not a vision, he's real, he's _real,_ he's holding her back, and then she's grasping hold of his face and torn between kissing every inch of it she can reach and gasping, "What – h. . . how. . . _how. . ._ I don't – I don't understand, I – "

"Well. Good morning to you too, Detective." He grins at her, wet arms still tight around her waist, her feet dangling just above the waves lapping around his legs. "But it really hasn't been that long, has it? Just a few days?"

"A few _days?_ You idiot, it's been a few _years!"_ Chloe heaves for breath, kisses him again, and is aware that they are starting to get stared at by a few other people down the beach (especially since Lucifer is, after all, still spectacularly nude) but she absolutely cannot bring herself to care. "Luci. . . Lucifer, I thought – how, _how?"_

He hoists her up and carries her out of the surf, up onto the beach, flashing a cheeky grin at everyone inclined to stare at the crazy hot naked man with enormous white wings. Probably not the weirdest thing they have ever seen in L.A., by a long shot. He sits down next to her on the sand, and she throws herself into his lap, leaning against his damp chest, as he rests his chin on her head. "Well," he says again, after a long moment. "There's this little rule that applies to my family, you see. If you die to save the world, by your own choice, when you're blameless in what's happening, and you have faith. . . it cancels it out, somehow. Death isn't the strongest thing out there, Detective, no matter what boring opinions Azrael might have on the subject. When it's love, the deepest love, when it's like that, it. . ." He stops. "It works differently."

"You got out of hell because of a _loophole?"_ Chloe takes his face in her hands, laughing and gasping. "Is that what you're saying?"

"I didn't spend that long as an upright officer of the law for nothing, then, did I?" He grins crookedly at her. "But that was the basis of it. Oh, and it happens I know a chap. We. . . we talked. Actually talked. Face to face, for the first time since. . . well, you know."

"You. . ." Chloe takes a minute, but gets it. "You talked to your dad?"

"Surprising me as much as you, believe me." Lucifer strokes a lock of hair out of her eyes, still looking at her with that intent, tender, disbelieving delight. "It was a long conversation, and half of it probably wouldn't make any sense to you, but. . . yes. You can imagine we had a bloody lot to catch up on. And I certainly wasn't expecting it, but I discovered that I meant it. When I said that I forgave him. We'll be playing catch and having awkward male bonding sessions before you know it. Well. Maybe not. Sounds dreadful, really."

"You're such an idiot," Chloe murmurs, snuggling into her spot against his collarbone and linking her arms around his lean torso. He wraps his wings around them both, and she can feel the ever-present warmth coming off them. "So if your brother looks like Idris Elba, who does your dad look like?"

Lucifer considers, then grins mischievously. "Morgan Freeman."

Chloe laughs, feels tears pricking her eyes, and nuzzles closer. She doesn't care that he doesn't have on a stitch of clothing, she doesn't care about how on earth to possibly explain this to anyone, she doesn't care about what Dan's face is going to look like when she arrives to pick up Trixie and Eve with a naked and bewinged Lucifer in the passenger seat (although it will probably be amazing). Not when she's sitting here in the early-summer sun, and she's in his arms, and he's real, and he's home, and the world is repaired, and the future is possible, when she sees in colors and breathes in light. As she looks up at the sky, and whispers only –

 _Thank you._

 _Thank you._

 **THE END.**


End file.
